Just Convenience
by MintSauce
Summary: Why is it that when you want to run from something, the harder you try to run, the faster it catches up with you? Mickey/Ian fic
1. Chapter 1

**Okay, this is going up tonight because I won't be posting anything tomorrow. (kind of hard to do when I'm going to London) so please don't hate me and hopefully enjoy this. . . **

Mickey's social skills were fucked, he could admit that. But he was pretty good at talking to people who were just as shitty at socialising as he was. He met Kara because she pushed drugs for the same guy Mickey broke kneecaps for. And it started off as the sort of acquaintance where he'd lend her a light if they were both standing around having a smoke at the same time, or she'd bring him a beer from the fridge in the backroom if it was as hot as fucking balls but Mickey was too lazy to get himself one.

He was twenty when he started working for Jackson and he'd been running from Chicago, he'd admit that to himself at least. He was running from his brothers, from his Dad and he was definitely running from some stupid little redhead who was determined to be a soldier and to make Mickey feel. Although, what he really told people was that he'd just had to get out of shitty Southside because it sucked some serious ass.

And not even in a good way.

Kara had called him out on that one immediately and that was when their acquaintance level got bumped up to maybe-friends. She'd been sitting on the wall outside the run down building Jackson used for his deals and his storage, so basically where Jackson lived. She had a bottle of beer swinging from one hand and a joint clutched loosely in the other.

"So whatcha running from?" she asked when he sat down next to her and plucked the joint from her fingers. Kara was nothing if not direct, but Mickey was used to that. Everyone was direct where he came from, that was the way it went.

He blew smoke out into the sky, thinking it was too hot to be sitting outside, but he was too fucking lazy to move into the shade. "What makes you think I'm running from something?" he asked, handing her back the joint after another drag.

Kara snorted, smoke coming out of her nostrils in a way he knew was completely deliberate. "Is this half empty or half full?" she asked, holding up her beer bottle.

He frowned not knowing what the fuck that had to do with anything, but told her, "Half empty," anyway.

She smirked, "See you're running from something, definitely."

"How the fuck can you work that out from a beer bottle?"

Kara shrugged. "Call me psychic," she replied, flicking away the end of the joint and taking a gulp of beer, swirling it around her mouth and spitting it out. "I fucking hate the taste of weed," she admitted when he raised his eyebrows at her, "Is that weird?"

"Yeah," he admitted, but then as far as he was concerned, she was fucking weird, "The fuck you running from then?" He didn't know why he was bothering asking, maybe because he was bored to fuck and it had been a while since he'd had an even mildly intelligent conversation. The guys around here weren't renowned for their brain cells.

For a second she didn't look like she was about to say anything, but in the end she just shrugged as if to tell herself, "Eh, what the fuck, I might as well.' She swirled her mouth out again with beer, like she thought the words she was going to say were going to taste bad, or maybe she just needed something to be doing. Mickey didn't know, he didn't particularly care.

"My ex," she said eventually and Mickey sort of figured it would be that, but he kept his face blank and neutral, "He's a bastard, used to bat me around just because he could and because he thought it was fun, but he didn't think it was so funny when I got pregnant and decided to run."

In some weird fucked up way, Mickey thinks that actually sounds pretty brave or noble or some shit, but he didn't know why and he wasn't about to fucking tell her that. "So what, he's following you?" he asked because that was the most obvious question.

Kara nodded and Mickey spat on the floor because at the end of the day, he was just as classy as she was. "He wants Tegan," she explained, but didn't look like she actually wanted to be saying the words. Like Mickey, she wasn't all that sociable. But he thought maybe that was what happened when you put two unsociable people together, sometimes they just had to get past it and talk. "He's been trying to find her ever since he found out she existed."

He told her that sucked and he thought he sort of meant it. He didn't not mean it anyway.

And that was how they became maybe-friends. Pretty much the first one Mickey had ever had if he was being honest, because Ian Gallagher didn't count and neither did his sister.

He met the kid when she was eight and found her sitting swinging her legs against the wall that he'd sat on that day with Kara. She watched and her mouth quirked up into a smile when he tossed someone out into the street courtesy of Jackson's instructions. And later on in the day she laughed when she saw Mickey break a guy's leg and he let the kid try a sip of beer because he decided that maybe she wasn't half bad. She had a good sense of humour at least.

Mickey usually wasn't one for favours or for pity, but the way Kara had looked at him when she'd asked for a favour, with wide fucking brown eyes that reminded him a little too much of someone he'd tried to forget. So he'd agreed to take the kid for a night, so long as he got paid in beer and pizza.

The kid was dropped off in grubby trousers that were rolled up at the bottom because they were at least three inches too long, a top that had a hole in the shoulder and she had a carrier bag clutched against her chest. She kind of reminded him of Mandy when she was actually still sort of innocent. That just sealed his fate really. She was smaller than Mandy had been though, scrawny and all wide-eyed and freckled with blonde-brown hair and kind of freaky blue eyes.

Her mum kissed her on the head and flipped Mickey off when he laughed at the face that the kid pulled. As soon as her mum had left, Tegan took an Xbox out of the bag she had clutched against her chest, which Mickey had been sure was supposed to be filled with overnight stuff – because yes, he'd been conned into letting the kid stay over. "You want to play?" she asked.

"Sure, whatever," he muttered, feeling awkward. He wasn't good with kids, he'd never been near them so he didn't really think it was his fault. But one thing he knew he could do was play Xbox. As long as the game wasn't anything stupid or girly.

As it turned out though, he didn't actually have to worry, because the kid pulled out COD and that was something that Mickey knew how to play without a doubt. Mindless fake violence in the form of a videogame was Mickey's form of entertainment, second only to mindless violence in real life.

They played COD, gorged out on Jell-O and played more COD until the kid started nodding off while holding the controller. Mickey gave her one of his old shirts that was big enough to fit her like a nightdress and dug a spare toothbrush out from somewhere and she'd smiled at him sort of dopily, which he supposed was fair enough since she was eight and it was one in the morning, almost.

She curled up in his bed after complaining in a low mumble that the mattress was lumpy and two beers later, Mickey had passed out on the couch. But that wasn't after deciding that maybe he wasn't half bad that the whole babysitting shit. It wasn't that hard, but he was glad he didn't have a womb or want to fuck anyone with a womb, because he definitely wouldn't want a kid full time. Ever. He couldn't imagine that you could raise one on Jell-O and Xbox alone. Although he supposed it would be fun to try, but it would probably turn out as thick as a plank and with a lazy eye like his brother Iggy.

The problems only actually started in the morning, when Mickey decided that the shit had well and truly hit the fan. And it wasn't that Mickey was being a good person or anything and he certainly wasn't suddenly growing a soul, but he didn't really like the prospect of a battered woman sitting on his doorstep. It'd only wind up with someone calling the police and he tended to avoid those.

Half of Kara's face was swollen up when he carried her inside and put her on the couch and she had a black eye and a split lip. Also, he was betting the judging by how she was clutching her side, she'd broken a rib or something. But she was scowling and she was awake, so he figured that she couldn't be that bad off.

"The fuck?" he asked quite simply, because Mickey wasn't really one for full sentences.

She pulled a face at him, "Get me a fucking icepack or something and I'll tell you."

In the end she settled with a bag of frozen peas Mickey had never had any intention of eating against her side and a bottle of beer in her hand that she kept pressing to her swollen cheek whenever she wasn't drinking from it.

"Yeah so he found me," she said, smirking a little and then wincing when she shifted on the couch.

He wanted to say no shit, but he figured that might be counterproductive and she just might hurl the beer bottle at her head, so instead he asked, "That why you leave the kid with me last night?"

"Nah, that was just good fucking luck," she muttered, taking a large mouthful of beer and pressing the bottle back against her face immediately afterwards. "So what the fuck are you running from?"

"None of your fucking business," he replied levelly, not knowing why or how the hell the conversation had swung around to him. He didn't like the focus being on him, but with the way Kara was staring at him, he figured chances were she wasn't going to let this one drop until she knew.

And he was right.

"Why, I fucking told you my story," she retorted and the winced when the face she pulled didn't help the bruising.

Mickey tried to stare her down for a minute at the same time as he tried to work out in his head how much he could actually get away with telling her. The only problem with Kara was that she was the time to try and worm the rest of the story out of him if he even gave her a little bit. Which was why he didn't quite know why he sighed and gave in. Maybe it was because of those goddamn fucking eyes that were looking up at him and seeming so familiar. "My Dad and brothers," he admitted eventually, rubbing his bottom lip with a finger, "Dicks want to see me dead, chances are they'll make it happen."

"You steal from them or some shit?" she asked, fidgeting a little bit, her breath hissing through her teeth when the movement didn't agree with her damaged ribcage.

"No."

"So why they want you dead?" she pressed, her gaze unwavering as she stared at him and right then he was thinking of so many colourful ways he could kill her. Because he didn't like people trying to worm their way into his head and under his skin. Only one person had tried that before and Mickey had gone and broken their fucking heart as well as his in the process.

That was why he told himself never again.

"Nosey bitch, aren't you?" he snapped, but it kind of ruined it that there was the beginnings of a smirk tugging up the corner of his mouth.

She just shrugged and then repeated, "Why they want you dead?"

And he wasn't going to tell her. He didn't actually even consider telling her for even a second. Because that was his business and it wasn't the business he went around sharing. He'd rather have danced around in public naked if he was being completely honest. But somehow the way that she was staring at him with those eyes made him say, "Turns out they don't really appreciate having a fag in the family."

"Holy shit, seriously?" to say her expression was incredulous would have been an understatement and Mickey didn't know whether he was supposed to be insulted, relieved or just freaked out, "I did _not_ see that one coming."

He snorted, "Good to know I hide it well then."

Out of all things, what calmed him down was the way that Kara smirked at him before taking another mouthful of beer and dropping the now-empty bottle down onto the floor behind the couch.

"So come with us," she said suddenly, the idea obviously just having occurred to her, "We can watch your back and you can watch ours."

He scowled, he couldn't help it. He put it down to the fact that he didn't like the fact that he liked a dick up his ass to suddenly mean that he couldn't take care of himself and needing protecting or some shit like that. "I'm fucking fine on my own," he growled out through clenched teeth, looking away from her and towards the door, almost like he expected someone to burst through at that very moment.

"Yeah but we're not."

The only thing that stopped him from blowing up straight away was the fact that he could tell that it took a lot for her to admit that. But that still didn't make Mickey a good or considerate person, but he figured it had to count somehow that he didn't shout at her, just said kind of harshly, "And what makes you think I have any fucking desire to be your knight in shining armour?"

"Because you know the longer you stick around here, the higher the chances are he's going to find you."

And that was how that all started and he supposed that he'd probably have the bump Kara up in his mind from maybe-friends to friends.


	2. Chapter 2

They left the state as soon as Tegan woke up and they'd stuffed anything valuable or useful into two holdalls. Mickey stole a car and drove with Kara sleeping against the window in the bag, her hand still pressed against her side and Tegan up front with him pointing at random things out the window and generally just trying to lighten the mood. Or maybe she was filling the silence.

Mickey didn't particularly know or care, he just thought that having some noise was better than none and it freaked him out ever so slightly that she now kept grinning at him like they were the best of friends or something. He was impressed that she didn't seem fazed by any of this at all though.

When they got to the far end of Iowa, they stopped in a shitty motel and Tegan waited outside whilst Mickey robbed a nearby store. Kara didn't even blink, but then he supposed if she'd been living on the run for a while and since she'd worked for a drug dealer, she was used to having to resort to different methods to survive. Later on they played darts with kitchen knives, the dartboard just a piece of cardboard that Mickey had drawn on. They even managed to coax Kara into playing even though she held her side the entire time and looked far too pale to be standing upright. The bruising on her face her faded, but her ribs would take a while to heal.

They stayed in that shitty hotel for three months, with Kara homeschooling reluctant Tegan and Mickey teaching her things like how to shoot a gun. Kara complained at first, but the idea of Tegan being able to defend herself was an attractive one. She liked knives the best, which Mickey thought was sort of creepy, but he didn't say anything. She kept one in the side of the stupid fucking army boots she always insisted on wearing.

Tegan's dad found them just after the third month was up and Mickey was out holding up a drug store to get cash; which he actually thought was for the best. The girls locked themselves in the bathroom and Kara called Mickey off her cell. He could hear Derek ranting and raving in the background as he trashed the motel room. Luckily, most of the stuff they still kept in the car so that they could be ready to bolt and Kara had grabbed one of the other bags on the way to the bathroom. Mickey had to punch out the little bathroom window so that the girls could climb out.

They didn't stop driving for three days straight, trying to put as much distance between them and Derek and possible. Mickey and Kara took turns behind the wheel and for almost the entire time for the first few days, Tegan stayed curled up against Mickey's side. Her grip was white-knuckled on a knife as she clutched it to her chest, her expression blank. That was the first time that Mickey realised how oddly protective he felt of Tegan. Kara to, but especially Tegan.

When they finally topped he stole a packet of marshmellows as well as the usual money and alcohol and they sat in the back of the car whilst Kara drove, melting them on the end of a pen knife with a lighter. They tasted a little dodgy, but it made Tegan smile.

He told himself that it was okay for him to feel a little attached. After all, you didn't spend so much time with someone and not feel something. But he also told himself that it was still for nothing but convenience. He didn't give that much of a shit, just a little. He blamed the eyes, the way both of them would look up at him with wide, watery eyes and remind him so much of that person he couldn't forget.

It was convenience though, that was all. Not because Mickey actually had a heart or anything though.

When they stopped on the edge of some shitty road with Tegan sprawled out asleep in the backseat, Kara and Mickey sat on the hood of the car and passed a joint between them. It was warm, but the air felt heavy as they breathed in, slightly uncomfortable. Still, uncomfortable was better than dead.

"You don't have to stick around, you know," Kara said, not looking at him as she spoke, blowing smoke out of her nostrils in that way he noticed she always did when she was nervous. He'd started noticing weird things like that, picking up on their habits, he couldn't particularly help it. "Nobody should have to deal with that nut job, I wouldn't blame you for dibbing out."

And he knew she wouldn't, that was the thing. She wouldn't blame him in the slightest, because he knew that as far as she was concerned, Derek was her burden. And yeah, that was true, but Mickey was begrudgingly growing a conscience and he knew he'd feel bad about leaving. He'd never really felt that before. He thought maybe it was the fact that he'd already left Mandy once and Tegan sort of reminded him of his sister, it would feel too much like he was leaving Mandy twice.

Of course he didn't say that.

"Not like I've got anything better to be doing," he said, taking the joint off of her again. He was fine with the whole not looking at each other when they spoke thing. Mickey wasn't really into that whole eye contact shit. He only liked looking people in the eye when he was staring them down, because otherwise he was afraid people might see something in him that he didn't want them to find out. That had happened once with some stupid redhead he'd let get under his skin, he put that down to too much eye contact or some shit.

It had definitely been the eye contact.


	3. Chapter 3

It was Mickey's Dad who found them next, but Mickey thought that was his own fault really. They'd strayed little too close to Chicago, never really settling down for long, not wanting to remain in one place. But they'd stopped just out of Chicago for about a week because Kara hadn't been very well. Terry Milkovich came personally to drag Mickey out of bed and he slammed him so hard into a wall that Mickey saw stars.

He counted himself lucky that it had only been his Dad, that he hadn't brought anybody else with him. Even so, as he fought back – because Mickey really wasn't the type to take anything just lying down – managing to break his Dad's nose at the very least, Mickey was convinced he was going to die. And they say that when you're convinced of that, you're life flashes before your eyes. Or at least Mickey thought he'd heard that somewhere anyway. Except Mickey knew without that even happening that he kind of wasted his life, he just spent a lot of it being a dick, running and drinking.

As far as he was concerned, there were only two patches of actual light in the darkness of his life. One had been when he'd been about seventeen and taking frequent trips to Juvie and the other was now with the girls. As fucked up as that was, he knew that was the truth.

And then Tegan stabbed Terry in the leg with a penknife as they crashed past the bed that the girls shared and Mickey was pretty sure that that feeling that he felt in his gut was pride. He'd laughed as his Dad lay there, pleased because Tegan didn't even flinch, he just grabbed a hold of Mickey's hand, the one that didn't have the obviously broken finger and dragged him out towards the door. She was only twelve – and even then only just.

All of their stuff was bagged and ready to go, just like always and Kara grabbed it they bolted, leaving Terry there on the floor clutching his leg and swearing at them.

"I don't think I like him," Tegan commented when they were on the road. She was sitting in the back with him, her legs crossed on the seat, taping his broken finger to another one because they knew full well that there was no way they were going to the hospital.

Mickey smirked, "Yeah, me neither."

As if that wasn't obvious.

"Nice job by the way," Mickey muttered, because it had to be said. He didn't want her thinking that it wasn't okay to do that, that she shouldn't do that, because as far as he was concerned she could stab his Dad whenever she liked. She could stab him wherever as well.

Tegan grinned like all of her Christmases had come at once. "Why's he hate gay people anyway? She asked after a while and she wasn't looking at him, although she did glance up through her lashes a few times.

"No fucking clue," Mickey replied, because it wasn't really something he thought about. He didn't think about the why, he just knew it was a fact. "Probably because everybody else does in my neighbourhood."

"It's called small-mindedness," Kara put in over her shoulder, one hand dangling out of the window clutching a cigarette as she drove.

Tegan pulled a face, "It's stupid."

After that she was away chattering about random things. Mickey didn't really listen, he just nodded along and occasionally looked back at her from staring out the window. He could see lights in the distance that he knew was Chicago and he scowled a little because all of a sudden he was thinking about that stupid redhead that he didn't want to think about. The one he should have forgotten a long time ago. The sight of Chicago made him keep wondering what he was doing, whether or not he'd gotten his ass shot off in the army or something. He didn't want to wonder, but he did anyway. Mickey could be stupid like that.

"You okay?" Kara asked him, meeting his eyes in the mirror.

Beside him, Tegan had fallen asleep slumped against the window. He hadn't even noticed when the chatter had cut off, which was worrying. He'd been too wrapped up in his own head. "Fucking great," he muttered back, thumbing his bottom lip and wincing when he touched the cut there, "Just thinking."

He saw her smirk out of the corner of his eye. "Don't hurt yourself," she told him.

He flipped her off as he climbed through the gap between the seats into the front, putting his feet up on the dashboard and sinking down into the seat. "Just keep driving," he replied, wishing there was an edge to his voice that had always used to be there. He didn't think there was anymore, maybe it was just that he was becoming far too familiar with the girls. He was just starting to like them or something.

"Yes boss," she muttered, looking at him briefly but knowing better than to say the thing she obviously wanted to. He wondered when she saw when she looked at him, wondered if he even seemed like a complete person anymore. Because he didn't feel it. For some reason he felt broken, felt broken and felt like his Dad was determined to crush the pieces up even smaller. Into dust.

Mickey thought that he was doing that just fine on his own actually. He didn't even know how to stop.


	4. Chapter 4

They lost themselves in the busy chaos of New York and it was actually the one place where they were able to move into a semi-permanent place. Tegan even enrolled into a school, although with all the fights that she got into, that probably hadn't been the best idea in the world. Mickey got a job as security for a strip club, which wasn't half bad because it paid well, but the girls kept trying to hit on him. And that freaked him out more than he would be willing to admit ever.

Kara worked in a nearby clothes store, which was only really because she could steal them stuff.

He found that it was weirdly domestic in a fucked up sort of way. Fucked up in that they all drank a little too much, including Tegan who'd hit her teens. They swore at each other more than they talked sometimes and their way of getting each other to calm down was to pass over a joint. But it still worked.

And that was something that freaked Mickey out almost more than girls hitting on him did.

"What do you miss about Chicago?" Tegan asked him on one of the hot, uncomfortable days in New York, when the air felt like it was trying to choke him from the inside out with every inhalation. They sat on the tiny balcony that their apartment had, their legs dangling down over the edge through the widely spaced bars. He was only wearing boxers and she was stretched out in shorts and a bikini top. He didn't like it, he thought she already looked too grown up, but he remembered that his sister had been the same at fourteen.

He'd hated the sudden growth she'd had from kid to practically a young woman. And he hated it all over again with Tegan. Except Tegan was more vicious than Mandy had actually ever been. She always had some weapon hidden on her no matter how little she was wearing.

They had a packet of cigarettes in between them, the number steadily decreasing and cans of beer in a bucket of ice behind them. This was their form of going to the beach as far as Mickey was concerned, since neither of them could actually be bothered to move.

"Nothing," he replied quickly, probably too quickly, flicking away the end of his cigarette and lying back own on his elbows. He didn't care that the metal of the balcony was digging into him a little, he'd definitely been more uncomfortable before. "It was shitty."

He knew she was staring at him without even having to bother looking.

"You have to miss something," she said with complete confidence, her mind already made up, "It was your home."

And then he knew why they were even having this conversation.

It was because Tegan had never really had a home. She'd always been moving about, she'd never settled. And because of that Tegan had always felt like she'd missed out on something phenomenal. Maybe she had, Mickey didn't know. He didn't know a hell of a lot about placed you'd call home. His Dad's house had never been home, not to him. He knew it had been to Mandy, because that was where all of their family had been, that had been where they'd all been raised. But eternally living in fear of getting your head caved in by one of your brothers or Dad wasn't exactly something that Mickey thought a home was supposed to feel like.

"Teeg," he said, voice low, almost exasperated sounding, "Home isn't about staying in one place for longer than a few months, it's about the fucking people; and the people in Chicago were just as shitty as the buildings."

A frown pulled her features together, mashed them up and made her less attractive than before. She was a pretty girl, which actually just pissed Mickey off. Because he already had to hide her from her Dad, but because she was pretty, he also felt like he had to defend her from all the douchebags out in the world.

"My home's where you and Mum are then," she said with ultimate conviction, "But there has to be someone you liked in Chicago."

He pulled a face to show how much he really didn't want to be having this conversation, but he knew Tegan was feeling a slight buzz from the beers she'd drunk and was in a talkative mood. "My sister Mandy," he admitted, hoping that would placate her, "She's the only one I miss from that shithole, now can you fucking drop it?"

She looked at him for a minute. It felt like the longest minute of his life, but he refused to crack and look back at her like she obviously wanted. "Liar," she scoffed, but he left the subject be anyway. That was what he liked about Kara and Tegan, they didn't push him.

He didn't want to think too much about the fact that she could tell he was lying. Especially not since he knew she was right.

Tegan was fifteen when Mickey's old life caught up with him again, but it wasn't in the way that he thought it would. He found it was weird though that he actually based time passing off of how old Tegan was. For some reason that made him feel almost like a parent or something stupid like that, but those thoughts in his head were retarded, so he kicked them out as soon as they entered.

"Mickey Milkovich! Haha, no fucking way, I thought it was you!"

He had never been more glad for Tegan to not be with him. She was inside the shop he was standing outside of, trying to find a hat that she didn't think made her look stupid. He'd been punched for saying that all hats made her look stupid, hence the reason he was standing outside.

He glared at the person suddenly standing in front of him, taking a deep pull from his cigarette. Of course, Lip Gallagher wasn't like most people though and he didn't run as soon as Mickey glared. He sort of wished the guy would, but Mickey's luck just wasn't that good.

"The fuck you want?" he asked eventually, pushing his tongue into the corner of his mouth and trying to look like he didn't care in the slightest. That had didn't care that now they were going to have to leave New York because someone had recognised him. Of course, of all people it had to be a fucking Gallagher. The one family he wanted to avoid more than anybody else, more than even his own. Because the Gallaghers had one person among them who scared Mickey a lot more than his Dad ever could, because the worst his Dad could do was kill him.

Mickey realised during the end of his teenage years that there were actually some things that were worse than death.

"What the fuck are you doing in New York?" Lip countered, because he was a stupid shit like that and he thought just because he had a few thousand more brain cells than the average person that he could get away with anything.

"None of your business," Mickey barked back, shifting a little uncomfortably because he knew that Lip wasn't the sort of person to travel on his own. The Gallaghers usually moved about in packs, or at last they'd used to. And he remembered all too well who had used to be Lip's shadow.

Lip laughed, scrubbing a hand through his hair and grinning wide and so fucking stupid. Like he was pleased about something that Mickey didn't even have a chance at comprehending. "Just thought I'd come see if it actually was you," he said eventually when he realised that Mickey wasn't actually going to say anything else, "Most of us figured you were dead actually, since nobody's heard from you in so long."

Mickey felt his lips twist into a sneer. "Sorry, I'll remember to fucking call you next time," he said, the sarcasm laid on thick, "Hope you didn't mourn me too fucking much." Normally he wouldn't have even bothered commenting, but he was slightly high and in some stupid way he sort of hoped some stuff would get back to Mandy.

"Wasn't me who gave a shit," Lip said and Mickey wondered if there was some sort of hidden message in that comment, "So why the hell you in New York?"

"How's Mandy?" he asked instead of answering, because he sort of wanted to now. And it wasn't too stupid to be asking after his baby sister.

Lip stared at him for a minute. "Annoyed that you didn't come home for the funeral," he said eventually, "But yeah, she's fine." Lip rubbed the back of his neck like he wanted to say something, but didn't know how. And Mickey had a feeling he knew what it was about, but Mickey cut him off before he even had a chance to speak.

"What funeral?"

It wasn't really any surprise that he hadn't heard about the funeral, because he hadn't been in contact with his sister since he'd left. He'd thought it was better that way; and safer. But it did mean that he was completely out of the loop.

"What funeral?" Mickey repeated when all Lip did was frown at him.

Lip opened his mouth, but then hand tugged at his elbow and he looked over at Tegan who struck a pose. "Wotcha think?" she asked, pulling on the edges of the hat and grinning. It was a panda, complete with ears and everything.

"You look fucking stupid," he replied, because it was sort of true. The hat was stupid anyway, but Tegan just didn't suit hats. Kind of like him. It just didn't look right.

"Don't be a dick," she said, pouting, her eyes going wide in that way that struck a cord inside of him, "I think it looks cute."

He rolled his eyes and refused to be affected by those eyes. "Well no shit, you wouldn't have bought it if you hated it," he said, stating the obvious.

Tegan just snorted and then looked across at Lip who was standing there watching the entire exchange. "Who the fuck's he?" she asked, her frown turning into a scowl for the longer than she looked at him.

"Nobody," Mickey said, but there was an edge to his voice that clued her in. He could tell from the expression on her face, the one that said that she knew they were going to have to be leaving soon. Right when they were actually starting to get comfortable.

She chewed her bottom lip for a moment, looking completely vulnerable, but then her expression hardened and she just seemed to shut down. She edged closer to him, their arms touching and he saw her hand dive into her pocket, no doubt clutching her knife.

"Lip Gallagher," Lip introduced himself after a minute when he realised that Mickey wasn't going to do it. But why the fuck would he, especially when he knew that Tegan wasn't going to care all that much. "I've known Mickey since like forever."

"Good for you," Tegan said and Mickey got that feeling of pride in his gut again for some reason.

Lip smirked like he was finding something about this scene ironic.

"Who the fuck died, Gallagher?" Mickey asked again, remembering his previous question suddenly. Normally he wouldn't have given a shit, especially since he knew it obviously wasn't Mandy, but he felt like this information was of great importance or some shit like that.

Beside him, he can tell that Tegan noticed the razor sharp edge to her voice, one she'd never really heart before because she tensed up and her fingers curled around Mickey's elbow like she had to remind him that they were in public and he couldn't beat the shit out of anyone here. He knew that Lip saw that and he also knew that Lip had noticed by now that Tegan was wearing Mickey's jacket. And it was obviously Mickey's because it was far too big and it was old and ragged, one Mickey had always used to wear in Chicago when the weather was shitty.

He let her wear that coat because he thought then maybe it would replace the memories that the material seemed to hold. Sometimes he wanted to burn the coat, because it felt like secrets were stitching into the seams and had been collected in the pockets, but he never could bring himself to actually do it.

"Your Dad," Lip said eventually and Mickey felt the words loosen something inside of him at the same time as something else tightened. He winced a little when Tegan's fingers gripped his elbow even tighter. Her nails dug in through the material and into flesh, but he said nothing. "Was a heart attack or some shit."

Mickey's eyes narrowed as he tried to work out whether or not Lip was lying, but he didn't know what the fuck he would get out of lying about that. "Good," he said bluntly, because honestly the relief rushing through him was insane. He'd never felt anything quite like it, it almost felt addictive. But he still knew that he wasn't safe. Even if his Dad was dead, there were still his brothers. But they were all fuckwits and they had the attention spans of fucking goldfish so they didn't actually scare Mickey at all.

But still, he wasn't stupid. He knew not to let his guard down.

Lip didn't even look mildly surprised at Mickey's reaction. "Yeah well Mandy's kind of pining for you or some shit," he said, rubbing the back of his neck, "I think she thinks that now your Dad's dead, you'll come back."

And when he glanced at Tegan, he could see the question in her eyes. _"Are you going to leave us?"_ She trapped her bottom lip between her teeth and her eyes went all wide and fucking stupid looking and she actually looked like she was about to cry. Except Mickey knew she wouldn't because he was pretty sure by now that he'd trained her not to.

He shook his head ever so slightly that the action was barely even there. But Tegan caught it. And he wanted to say that if he did go back, he'd be taking Tegan and Kara with him because he didn't know how to function without them clogging up his schedule. Except, that would have been really gay and it would have made it seem like he gave more of a shit than he was comfortable feeling, so he kept his mouth shut and instead looked back at Gallagher.

"Yeah well, not really anything in Chicago worth going back to, is there?" Mickey said, making sure he sounded cold and bored as fuck, no real emotion there at all. He didn't look Lip in the eyes, he couldn't. Not even when he next spoke and Mickey was pretty sure he thought the feeling twisting inside of him meant he was going to puke.

"Your fucking sister?" Lip said, looking like he wanted to hit Mickey, but instead he chose the wiser option and took a step back. "And by the way, my brother hasn't got shot yet," he said as a parting line, because Lip was fucking cocky like that and more gay than Mickey could ever be even though the guy was definitely straight. "Just in case you gave a shit."

And Mickey did. He gave more of a shit than he would ever be willing to admit. But he'd be damned if he was going to admit that to anybody. So he just spat on the floor and turned his back on Lip as the guy walked away. He looked down at Tegan and met her eyes for a split second, which was a mistake. He knew it was a mistake because she reached up and patted his cheek in a sort of understanding way that made him feel sick.

Eye contact was definitely bad; but then he'd already worked that much out.


	5. Chapter 5

Kara was passed out on the couch when they got in, never having made it to the bedroom she shared with Mickey. Originally her and Tegan had always shared a room, but Tegan had complained that that was stupid since she was a teenager. So Kara moved in with Mickey. And it wasn't like it was any skin off his teeth or anything. They shared a double bed, but there was a definite line drawn down the middle of it. They were both messy, so the stuff that was dropped aimlessly all over the floor was as much Kara's as it was Mickey's.

And it wasn't like either of them got laid often anyway, but they definitely weren't stupid enough to bring people back to their apartment. Even Tegan's school had a fake address. They took no chances. And yet a fucking Gallagher still managed to find him in New York. Fucking _New York_ where it shouldn't be possible to randomly bump into people you knew, just because.

"Mum," Tegan flicked Kara on the forehead, crouched down in front of her.

Mickey was already in the kitchen planning on drowning out all the thoughts in his head with beer. It was the parting comment that had done him in. He didn't give a shit about his father being missing, or about Lip trying to make him feel guilty. He just didn't know why the fuck Lip thought he should tell Mickey about Firecrotch. He didn't know why the hell Lip thought that Mickey should be asking after him, or that he cared, because that was obviously what the fucking prick thought.

Mickey didn't know what he thought anymore, he only knew about everyone else. And that was just stupid. Beyond stupid in fact.

He heard Tegan's bedroom door shut and knew that she would be packing without needing to be asked to. For some reason he wondered how he was going to make it up to her. He wasn't used to feeling like he had to do shit like that, but at the same time he was. Hell, it had been five years, he was allowed to give something of a shit.

"T says we have to go," Kara said, her fingertips touching his arm and then skimming across to take the beer from his hand. That was about the equivalent of a hug for them. Her expression was unreadable, but then Mickey wasn't sure he wanted to read it. He took back the beer as soon as she'd taken a mouthful. "You want to talk about it?"

She already knew the answer before she even asked the question, they both knew that.

"No," he replied anyway, even though it was a waste of a word, "My Dad's dead by the way." He felt like he should probably tell her that. He wondered what she'd say, whether like Tegan she thought that he would take off now.

"I know, Tegan told me," she said, her voice low and slightly scratchy from sleep, "So what now? We heading to Chicago?"

Mickey let out a breath that he didn't know he had been holding and then shrugged. "Should probably check on my sister," he said, "You'd like her." He didn't know why he'd added that. Normally he didn't bother with trivial pieces of information.

"Cool," she replied, probably just needing to say something. Mickey wondered if she even knew what she was saying. "Now don't be an asshole and help us pack." She walked away without saying anything else, the agreement made. They were heading to Chicago.

_Fuck_, Mickey thought, he maybe even muttered it under his breath.

He might as well have given the almost desperate way he necked the rest of his beer. He left the bottle on the side and didn't bother opening another. He'd drink the rest in the car, Kara could drive.

It took them just over half an hour to pack everything up, because they were sort of experts at it now. Which was actually kind of a sad thing to be good at if Mickey thought about it, but then he supposed it was no better or more commendable than any of his other talents. Talents which were all the sorts of things that would land a person in jail if they weren't careful.

Mickey sat in the back with Tegan whilst Kara drove, her legs in his lap and empty beer bottles and cans collecting in the footwell as they drank themselves into a hazy state. Although admittedly, Mickey did most of the drinking. Which was probably why he actually answered truthfully when Tegan asked him a question.

"You nervous?" she stared at him, but he refused to look at her, "About going back?"

They still hadn't spoken about Lip's parting comment, but all of the questions regarding that topic hung in the air constantly. Those questions threatened to choke him every time he breathed in. But he wasn't ready to give answers. He didn't know if he'd ever be. But what he did know was that a) Tegan wasn't going to put pressure on him to answer and b) it was all going to be summed up when they got to Chicago anyway knowing Mickey's luck.

If Gallagher hadn't got his ass blown off yet, then the chances were Mickey was probably going to run into him. He didn't want to. He never wanted to see Gallagher again, because his life would be so much easier like that. But he wasn't lucky and he just knew that fate was going to be shitty to him. It always was.

"A bit," he muttered, taking a large mouthful of beer that by this point he couldn't even really taste. "Fuck off," he added, slightly louder, just because he felt like he should.

Tegan didn't even look in the least bit offended. She just smirked at him and then shifted so that the feet in his lap were replaced by her head on his thigh. According to her, seatbelts were overrated, which he could see ending badly at some point, but it was a bit like the pot calling the kettle black if he commented.

He dozed off a little with his head back against the seat, Tegan using his thigh as a pillow and Kara humming along to the shitty music under her breath. They listened to the same thing every time they were in the car, the same CD. He didn't even know what it was, he couldn't be bothered to ask. All he knew was that it was shitty. When he woke up, and really he wasn't even sure he'd gone to sleep, but he supposed he must have, everything was still exactly the same. They were still driving.

He brushed a piece of Tegan's hair off her face with his fingertips, the gesture affectionate enough to make him cringe, but he couldn't take it back. It had almost been automatic. In fact, that was exactly what it had been.

Tegan wasn't attractive when she slept. She drooled a little and the expression on her face was always stupid. Her fingers twitched, as did her feet, like even in her sleep she was running from something. It almost made Mickey wonder if he was the same, if he had habits like that. It would have been gay to ask though, not to mention pointless, so it just remained as nothing more than a stray thought in his head.

The process of leaving was weirdly peaceful, it was familiar, he supposed that was maybe why. When he was sober enough, Kara pulled onto the side of the road and clambered over into the passenger seat while he got out. He replaced his leg with his folded up jacket, because Tegan was still asleep and he envied her for being able to sleep, but he didn't have the heart to wake her up.

He wondered if he had a heart. He thought maybe he did, but sometimes when he remembered things that he had done, it made him doubt the fact. It didn't even matter that he could feel it beating when he pressed his palm against his chest. Or then again, maybe it was his soul that was missing not his heart. He didn't know and he thought the thoughts in his head were gay so he stopped them.

It was only when they actually reached Chicago that the peace ended.


	6. Chapter 6

They'd stopped at a motel just on the outskirts of Chicago because it was too late to bother his sister. That and Mickey sort of wanted whatever advantage daylight could give them when they turned up. Even his brothers wouldn't be stupid enough to shoot him in full view of everyone. He hoped. That was if they were even there.

They only booked the one room because they weren't planning on staying for more than a few hours. They left all the stuff in the car since Mickey had slept the last leg of the journey and he offered to go out and score some more cash while the girls slept.

None of them had even thought twice about it, but Mickey wished so much that he had done. And Mickey wasn't really one for wishing, which he thought said something about the situation.

He could smell the smoke before he even got out the car and he sort of knew then. Just _knew_ what had happened. And Mickey had never felt fear like that, the sort that could strangle a person, force the air out of their lungs even when they breathed in. Mickey had only felt that sort of fear once, when he'd told his Dad he was gay. But then he'd also had several lines worth of coke and adrenaline pumping through his system, so it had been different.

As soon as he got out of the car someone latched onto him and he jumped violently before he realised it was Tegan. Losing himself for a minute, he held her face in between slightly shaking hands and looked at her, trying to assess the damage. But the blood streaked across her cheekbone and on her hands didn't look to be hers.

"I went to the bathroom," she said, her words stuttered and broken, her eyes wide. She looked like she was about to cry and this time he wouldn't have blamed her. "Someone jumped me from behind but I stabbed them in the neck." She looked up at the building and the smoke. "Mum's still in there."

Mickey could safely say he had never been more glad for them choosing a shitty motel that had a shared bathroom in another building. He nodded, almost gravely and took his hands away from her face, opening up the car door again. "Get it," he said, his voice leaving no room for argument, "Lock the doors and fucking stay there."

The order to dial 911 didn't need to be said.

Tegan squeezed his hand for a second and then climbed into the car. Mickey slammed the door and took off running. And he'd never run like that before. He felt like he was flying across the ground. It was the adrenaline. It was easy to tell which room was theirs even if he had forgotten, not only because it was the only one without people emerging out of it, but it was also the only one with smoke coming out from under the door.

There was only one room, so he knew he wouldn't have to search, but getting into said room was the difficult part. He kicked in the door, the wood already weak from the flames and he had to press his face into his arm, coughing with the smoke that rushed out to greet him. Through narrowed eyes he could see the orange fire in the room. The shitty furniture seemed to have gone up quickly and their room was the one on the end, so it was obvious that the fire had been started through something being thrown in through the window on one wall.

Mickey could tell all of that in the handful of seconds when he stopped in the doorway. Mickey wasn't really one to be a hero, but even more than that he wasn't one to hesitate. He never had before, not with anything. When he had his mind made up, he just got on with it, so he didn't see why he should change his ways then.

He'd never admit that he wasn't really all that fond of fire, but nevertheless he ran into the room with his eyes narrowed and his arm over his face to try and help his breathing. The choking feeling was real now, because of the smoke. He could taste it on his tongue, could feel it clogging up his lungs.

The cheap carpet was made of something obviously highly flammable and it was spreading fast, which was why he sprinted over to the bed without wasting any more time. Kara was curled up on her side, unconscious and he wondered if she had ever even woken up. He didn't think so. He'd heard about people dying in their sleep when their houses caught fire. That was probably one of the many stupid, pointless things that Gallagher had told him.

Mickey threw back the covers, tossing them onto a patch of nearby flames to try and maybe stop them a little. He didn't look to see if it had helped. He slid an arm under Kara's knees and another under his back, lifting her up easily. Kara had never been heavy and Mickey had never been more glad for that fact.

The only problem was that now he didn't have anything to press his face into and he was forced to breathe in the thick smoke. He could feel it burning his lungs and he'd never felt anything quite like that. Mickey could handle getting punched in the face, but he hated this.

There was only one way in and out of the motel room. Through the door. And Mickey cursed the shitty flammable carpet again when he realised that the path from the bed to the door was pretty much blocked. But he didn't really have any plan to be burnt alive standing in the same spot. He figured he probably had another minute or so before where he was standing caught alight too, because he could see the flames creeping closer.

He was grateful for how small the room was that was all he could really say.

"You owe me for this bitch," he muttered, pressing his face into Kara's neck for some relief and then realising he was just as worse off as him and nudged her hair over to cover her face. He figured that was better than nothing.

Gritting his teeth, Mickey dug his fingers into Kara's skin probably hard enough to leave bruises, but it wasn't like she was conscious, so she didn't notice. The flames were only up to about knee height, jumping and dancing around constantly in a way that made Mickey want to puke. Or maybe that was the smell and the smoke he was breathing in.

"Fuck," he swore under his breath and then just ran for it.

Mickey didn't know how to describe it. He didn't know there was even pain like that. It felt like the skin on his legs was bubbling and boiling on his bones. He could actually feel his jeans catching light at the bottom, burning away in random places. His lungs felt like they were burning also with every single necessary breath, but because Mickey was fucking stupid, the only thing he really worried about at the time was whether Kara was coming out of this okay. He tried to lift her as high as he possibly could, to keep her above the fire, but he didn't know if it worked.

People actually applauded him as he burst out of the motel room, like he gave a shit about their thoughts. The ambulance and a fire engine were just pulling in as well and Mickey thought it was fucking stupid how glad that made him. He didn't know how the fuck he stayed standing, because his legs felt numb and burning all at the same time, which made no sense but was somehow happening. He stumbled forwards and some random guy helped him lower Kara to the floor just as a paramedic rushed up.

He was only vaguely aware of what happened afterwards, as the adrenaline faded out of his veins. A mask was pressed against his face and someone touched his legs, assessing damage. He was aware of Tegan pressing herself against his side, her fingernails digging into his flesh so hard he knew she was drawing blood, but he didn't even feel it. They both watched the paramedics work on Kara, checking her breathing and her heart.

And then the paddles were brought out and the man called, "_Clear_!" and all Mickey could think was, _no, we're not clear. None of this is clear. We are __**never**__ going to be in the clear_. And knowing that fucking sucked.


	7. Chapter 7

Mickey had second degree burns on his legs, stretching up just past his knee on the left. His skin was an angry red and white colour and he could feel the blisters underneath the bandages. He was told not to walk for long periods of time and he hated it because he was confined to a wheelchair. Every time he stood he felt like he was going to throw up from the pain. But he decided that he was definitely better off than Kara.

They'd had to restart her heart by shocking her and even though she only had mild burns on one of her arms that had been hanging off the side of the bed, she'd been put into a medically induced coma. Her lungs were fucked because of the smoke, one of her lungs had collapsed and she was incapable of breathing on her own, hence the tubes down her throat. There were so many tubes and wires attached to her, so many bulky pieces of machinery that Mickey didn't feel like he could fit in the room in his wheelchair. But he made himself fit and he sat by the side of her bed and didn't hold her hand because he didn't do stuff like that, but he thought maybe he wanted to.

They'd induced the coma to give her lungs time to heal so that she could breathe on her own and people kept telling Mickey how brave he was going in there to get her. Stupid, but brave. They said she wouldn't have survived if she'd been in their much longer and Mickey didn't want to listen because who the fuck wanted to hear how close they'd gotten to losing someone. It was just depressing.

He didn't need their praise anyway. He'd done what he'd done and he knew he'd do it again if he had to. But that didn't mean he needed to be reminded of it every day. Like the burns on his legs and the pain resounding through his very bones wasn't enough of a reminder.

Tegan slept in Mickey's room and when he was discharged, they both slept in Kara's, listening to the steady beeping that meant she was still alive and the click of machines that helped her breathe. It was horrible and Mickey hated it. He hated being in there, staring at her and knowing she wasn't going to wake up, but he'd be damned if he was going to force Tegan to leave and he'd rather chop of his own legs than leave her there alone. He'd already fucked up and let Derek get to one of them, he wasn't letting Tegan out of his sight.

He didn't care how unlike himself that made him. He was past caring.

It was only when the bandages came off of Mickey's legs and he was given cream or some shit that was supposed to soothe the burns and reduce the scarring at the same time. He didn't know, he hadn't been listening. That was just what Tegan had told him. It was only when he sat with his feet up on Kara's hospital bed, rubbing cream into one of his legs while Tegan did the other. He hadn't asked her to, she just seemed to know that doing them both at once was better than having to go through the pain twice.

"Can we find a place somewhere or some shit?" she asked, not looking at him, instead focusing intently on rubbing the cream on his shin. The burns were horrible and ugly, but the blisters had gone, leaving the skin just rough and sort of wet looking. Mickey hated looking at his legs, but he couldn't seem to tear his eyes away either.

They both knew that they were staying in Chicago now, because of Kara. They'd given a fake identity to the hospital in case Derek called up to check if she'd been booked in. They'd covered their asses, but it was still risky sticking around. They hadn't gone out of the hospital other than to park the car.

"Sure," he replied simply, not needing to say anything else and being saved from doing so when he winced.

Tegan just nodded.

Two days later Mickey had signed the lease for an apartment not all that far from the house he'd grown up in. He'd gotten it cheaper because the landlord had recognised the name Milkovich. Mickey had forgotten shit like that happened. He still found it amusing though that people recognised him and actually crossed the street to get away from him.

The apartment was two-bedroomed and the colour scheme hurt Mickey's eyes, but the shower was decent and it was fucking cheap. Plus, it wasn't the hospital, that was what counted. The furniture was shitty and old, the springs of the couch almost completely busted, practically poking through the material.

They stayed there for three days without really going anywhere other than the hospital. They stayed until they ran out of food to eat and it was about time to do their usual stupid ritual. He took Tegan out the Walmart not far away and they shoplifted a fuck of magazines whilst paying for the majority of the groceries. And then they sat on the floor in Tegan's room, cutting out pictures from the magazines, sticking them up on the walls to try and make it seem more personal; and this time, also to cover up the horrible paint colour. They screwed up some of the pictures, tore the edges, making them tattered and old looking. It made it feel more like a home for some reason, more like they were destined to stay there for longer than a heartbeat.

Two weeks after they'd moved in, Mickey took Tegan to enrol in his old school. And it wasn't because he gave a shit about her education, but he knew Kara had done and he also had to get a job or some shit and he wanted Kara to be somewhere that he knew well. So that meant the school.

"What do you want?" the principal asked when he saw Mickey, his tone sharp, because of course he was the same twat who had been in charge when Mickey had been in school. Not that he'd actually turned up to many classes admittedly. "Don't tell me you want to take your GED or some shit."

Even Tegan snorted at that one and that seemed to draw the Principals attention to her for the first time. "Fuck off," Mickey said, thumbing the letters on his dirty knuckles, "Tegan's enrolling."

The Principal – Mickey only remembered his face not his fucking name – stared at Tegan for a moment, obviously trying to work out if she had the name Milkovich fucking branded on her forehead or something. Tegan just glared back, unfazed. "And Tegan would be your. . .?"

"None of your fucking business," Mickey snapped, because he didn't even know how to define it, "I'm responsible for her, just fucking leave it at that."

The expression on his face clearly said, '_Poor kid_'. But the guy was smart and said nothing, he just nodded. He knew better than to try and argue something with a Milkovich. It was the fastest way to get a broken nose or your tyres slashed; everyone with half a brain around here knew that. He glanced over Mickey's shoulders and sighed, "Gallagher, just go wait outside my office and try not to set anything on fire on your way there."

Mickey tensed at the name and glanced over his shoulder even though he knew there was no way in hell that Firecrotch would still be at school here. Instead he saw he knew was a fucking sociopath, but he couldn't remember his name. His hair was cut short and he had a bruise on his cheek that was obviously several days old, it just looked like a smudge across his pale skin. There was a crazy look in his eyes when he smirked and he unnerved Mickey just as much then as he had all those years ago. The guy was unbalanced.

He figured this Gallagher had to have been held back or something, because he looked a little too old to be in school.

He didn't seem to recognise Mickey at all, but then why would he, but the look he gave Tegan was definitely appreciative. And of course, because she was Tegan, she lapped it all up and smirked back in a way that shouldn't have been flirty, but was.

The next day Tegan went to school in a skirt that was far too short and nervousness in her eyes that she'd never express. Mickey got a job down with a local drug dealer who knew him, breaking knee caps, something he was good at. And he counted himself lucky that he hadn't seen anyone he knew yet, but he wasn't lucky and he knew he had to suck it up and go see Mandy.

He told himself that it wasn't cowardly that he waited until Tegan finished school and she could go with him. He told himself it was just because it was the best time since he didn't know if Mandy had a job or something and he wasn't leaving Tegan anywhere he didn't trust. But nevertheless, Mickey felt like he was about to be sick when he stood on his old porch, in front of the door.

He chewed his bottom lip and Tegan leaned forwards and pounded the door with a fist before Mickey had a chance to back out. She gave him a look that seemed cold, but he knew classed as a smile and he let the corner of his mouth twitch upwards slightly in response.

"Hold the fuck on!"

He almost ran at the sound of Mandy's voice, but Mickey wasn't a coward and he wouldn't run from his own fucking sister, so all he did was jam his hands deep into his pockets and shift uncomfortably to try and stop the material of his slacks from pressing against his burns too much. It still hurt to walk, but he didn't let it show and he'd be damned if he was going to pussy out and use the fucking wheelchair in public.

Besides, the cream he put on twice a day helped.

He could feel Tegan standing just behind him, the heat that radiated off of her body pressing against him in a way that shouldn't have been comforting. He knew that was her way of telling him that there was no way she was letting him fucking leave. But Mickey's legs had never felt weaker, not even when he'd walked through the fire.

When the door was jerked open, it actually took Mandy a minute to process what she was seeing. And even then all she did was mutter a ragged, "Oh shit," before latching onto him, her arms so tight around his neck that he couldn't decide whether or not he was able to breathe. Like all of a sudden that was a decision or something. Her fingers were in the back of his hair, tugging almost to the point of pain, but Mickey had a very different range of pain now. That didn't even register on his scale. He could feel the tears against the side of his neck though, running down to the base of his throat and that hurt in a way he wasn't used to. That hurt him inside and it was so alien, but so familiar, because he knew it was the feeling he'd always used to get when Mandy cried.

It wasn't like when anyone else cried, when he wanted them to stop just because it was fucking annoying and gross. No, it was because Mandy was his little sister and she always would be and for some reason that made it just all so incredibly _different_.

"Mickey, what the hell are you doing here?" she asked in a choked voice when she pulled again, her hands gripping the sides of his face like she couldn't make up her mind whether or not this was real. Whether or not Mickey was actually there. And he felt sort of guilty for that. It had been five years since he'd seen his sister and he hadn't realised he'd missed her quite that much, that it was possible to miss her that much until he actually saw her with his own eyes.

Her makeup had run, creating black grubby lines down her red cheeks and he resisted the urge to wipe them away because he didn't fucking do that. He had no idea where the fuck that impulse had even come from.

"Heard about Dad," Mickey said, almost gruffly because he's shit at emotion, "Figured I'd come say hi or some shit." He thought that that was about as good as his answer was going to get, because at least it hadn't been a lie. It just hadn't been the whole of the truth either.

But Mandy still grinned like he'd just said everything she'd wanted to hear and fuck, maybe he had done. Mickey didn't know anymore. But then, when had Mickey ever known anything anyway. The answer was never. The only thing Mickey knew how to do was fuck shit up.

"I missed you assface," Mandy said, and looked at him through her bangs like she was nervous or something.

He didn't say it back, just pulled her into another hug because he figured that was just as good as words were. The way Mandy's nails dug into his shoulder made him think that she was trying to hold on.

"I thought you were dead or some shit," she mumbled, so quiet he wasn't completely sure he was meant to hear.

"They fucking tried," he replied and knew she'd assume the 'they' was just the rest of the Milkovich boys, "But I'm just that fucking invincible."

She stared at him, "No you're not."

And yeah, he already fucking knew that. The burns on his legs, the way his skin itched on the inside reminded him of that every fucking minute of the day.

"We gonna fucking stand outside all day?" Tegan asked from behind him, "I think my tits are about to fall off, _Jesus_." Which was Tegan speak for, 'hurry it the fuck along, I'm bored and this emotional crap is freaking me out.'

Mandy stared over his shoulder at Tegan, who just stared back and Mickey shifted uncomfortably for a reason more than just the feel of his trousers against the burns on his legs. "This is Tegan," he said before Mandy could ask the question, "It's a long story and I can't be fucked tell it, but basically I'm in charge of her for a while."

He hated that his insides said, "Forever," in response to that.

"Whatever," Mandy said, recovering quickly because she was a Milkovich and they were good like that. It was adapt or die, that was what they'd grown up being told. She waved them in and he could feel his sister assessing Tegan, which he thought was fucking hilarious since at her age, Mandy had been almost exactly the same.

Just less scared and with better memories.

"So where've you been hiding?" Mandy asked when they were settled in the kitchen with Mickey leaning against the counter that Tegan was sitting on, a beer clutched in one hand. He tapped the neck of the bottle for a minute and then shrugged.

"Last place was New York," he replied, letting Tegan take his beer and drain half of it because he'd known she would do that as soon as she'd said she didn't want a drink.

Mandy watched them in that weirdly all-seeing way she sometimes had done when they were younger and it unnerved Mickey more than he was willing to let on.

"Where did you pick her up?"

If one thing hadn't changed at all since he'd left, it was that Mandy still knew how to phrase things in the rudest way possible. He automatically gave Tegan a look because he could feel her getting pissed off behind him, but the glare he directed at Mandy. "Don't be a bitch," he told her seriously, "And we met just after I left Chicago, so it's been like five years or something." He wanted to add, not that it was really any of her business, but he supposed since he'd up and left maybe it was.

"Where the fuck's her mother?" Mandy asked, obviously ignoring his request to be polite. But then he'd thought she would.

Tegan jumped down off the counter before Mickey could even think to stop her. "In a coma bitch, so watch your fucking mouth," she snarled and Mickey got that sort of proud feeling again.

Mickey reached out an arm and grabbed a hold of the back of Tegan's shirt, tugging her backwards. He wrapped an arm around her neck, pinning her head down by his hip, forcing her to bend and started rubbing her head with his knuckles. She squealed and pushed at him and he was impressed that he knew how she'd already have stabbed him in the leg if he'd posed any danger to her.

"What shit have you got yourself into now?" Mandy asked when Mickey let Tegan go, smirking at her as she scowled, trying to rearrange her hair in the reflection in the window.

He just shrugged. "Doesn't matter," he replied, "The fuck you been doing anyway?"

Tegan stopped rearranging her hair and jumped up onto the counter again, her fingertips resting against his spine. She did that sometimes, he didn't really care to know why.

"Well I'm still dating Lip," she said, the words sounding like an announcement and he could see that she was proud of that fact.

"Dating or fucking?"

He expected his sister to flip him off or something, but she just smiled, "Dating this time, for real."

And Mickey hated that last bit, because it reminded him of the person she'd used to fake date. He tried to crush those thoughts down, the memory of that person, but it felt like Ian Gallagher's face was burnt into the inside of his eyelids. Mickey just wished that it was a better picture, because he hated remembering the image of Gallagher all wide eyed and sad, pleading Mickey not to kill Frank. Which was just fucking stupid, because Mickey seriously shouldn't give two shits about anyone in Chicago other than his sister.

When he told himself he didn't, he knew it was only because Gallagher wasn't even in Chicago at the moment. Or at least he hoped not.

"It seems like everything's working out this year," Mandy said, turning her back to him to get something out of the fridge. And Mickey had to look away because really he didn't need to see that, not when his sister was wearing a skirt so short, _too_ short. There was a reason he was gay, but even if he wasn't, that was just fucking incesty looking at that. "You're back and Ian's home soon, so it's all going to be great."

And that was the soppiest he'd ever heard his sister sound, but he was a little too busy panicking to think about what that might mean. He knew his face went blank with shock, because he hadn't planned on Gallagher turning up, hadn't planned on him finding out Mickey was back especially – and he fucking knew Mandy would tell him – and he definitely hadn't bargained for not being able to fucking leave.

_Shit_, he thought to himself and looked away from his sister's back, but he didn't school his expression in time. His eyes met Tegan's and he looked away instantly, but it wasn't quick enough. He knew she'd seen.

"Yeah, whatever," Mickey muttered, forcing himself to sound calm and controlled even though he felt like he was going to be sick. The fingertips against his spine helped, they helped keep him grounded for some fucked up reason he didn't want to think about too much.

They left two beers later, with Mandy threatening him with bodily harm if he skipped town. He didn't tell her that he would have done if Kara hadn't been in the hospital. He didn't think she wanted to know that.

"So what was that look for?" Tegan asked him, just like he'd known she would. It was hours later and he was surprised she'd waited this long. They were on the couch smoking a joint, Tegan's legs curled up under her ass and her knees touching Mickey's thigh because the couch was kind of small. "When your sister was talking, what was the look for?"

And he didn't want to tell her. He'd rather have done anything but tell her. Except that he knew she wouldn't give up and Mickey wasn't smart enough to be able to lie. Not to Tegan anyway, it was like he could taste lies on the back of her tongue.

"She was talking about the guy I used to fuck," he admitted eventually, "She still doesn't know I was fucking him." He left out the part about said guy being his sister's boyfriend – albeit fake, it still was bad because Mandy had blatantly been in love with him.

He didn't know what he was about how he'd said that that made her able to say, "You love him or something?" with complete confidence. Maybe it was just that Mickey never let his guard down enough to show real emotion, but he had done then.

"Fuck off," he muttered, but he supposed that was actually an answer anyway, "He won't even remember be, he went off and joined the army or some shit, he got out." By now Mickey would just be a blip in his memory, a person long forgotten as that guy who he used to fuck who was more than a little bit of a dickhead. It was as simple as that.

And Mickey would never admit that it kind of hurt inside to think of how Gallagher would have almost definitely have forgotten about him.


	8. Chapter 8

Mickey's life had gotten weird. Or at least weirder than usual. He thought maybe because there was less running and a lot more Chicago. He couldn't explain it, it was just that his entire routine was shifting and it seemed unnatural, but he didn't hate it. He saw a lot more of Mandy now, which wasn't a bad thing, especially since Tegan and her had decided that actually they weren't all that different and they didn't actually have to hate each other.

Mickey supposed he'd loosened up a little as well. Sure, he wasn't an idiot and he knew Derek was still out there somewhere, but he knew Chicago like the back of his hand and he trusted Tegan's instincts enough to be able to let her walk around. He still had to know where she was at all times though, otherwise the anxiety ate him up from the inside. He thought that was fucking pathetic, but he couldn't change it.

Kara was still in a coma, albeit induced which Mickey thought made it a little better than her not being able to wake up for some other reason. She'd stopped breathing once and Tegan hadn't left the apartment for three days, had just sat in her room staring at her wall. And because Mickey was shit at emotions, he'd just sat next to her and passed her a joint now and again. He didn't know how to do the whole parenting shit, but he figured being Tegan's friend and being there was enough. She didn't cry at least, even though he wouldn't have actually blamed her if she had.

The first Gallagher he ran into was Lip, who walked over when he spotted Mickey sitting opposite the high school, lazily sucking on a cigarette. The weather was mellowing out, becoming a little warmer and Mickey already knew it was going to be a fucking hot summer this year. He spat on the ground at the thought, because if there was one thing Mickey hated, it was the heat.

"Classy," Lip said, smirking at him because the guy had a fucking death wish. But then he was probably used to Milkovichs by now given that he was dating Mandy. Mickey almost found it fucking funny that his sister had managed to hold on to a Gallagher and he hadn't. Not that he'd wanted to, but still, out of the both of them, Mickey had thought he was the one more likely to swing towards relationships. And that was saying something. "You do know it's kind of creepy sitting opposite a school right?" he asked, taking Mickey's cigarette and making the ex-con scowl, "You planning on picking up some little school boy or something?"

"Fuck off," Mickey snarled at him through his teeth, cracking his knuckles so that he wouldn't punch the guy in the face. Mandy would be pissed if he did, even if Mickey felt like he was well within his rights to.

Lip smirked and handed him back what remained of his cigarette, settling on the wall beside Mickey. "Just thought I should tell you, you know," he commented and Mickey spat on the floor again, like maybe that would get rid of Gallagher or something. "So what you doing back anyway?" he asked when Mickey didn't say anything, "Thought you were happy in New York?"

"And when the fuck did I say that?" Mickey snapped, because honestly he sort of had been, "And it was just fucking necessary, doesn't matter why I'm here." Although, maybe it sort of did, he just didn't want Lip to find that out. He didn't want anyone around here finding that out, because that meant that Mickey was growing soft, it meant people would try shit they wouldn't normally pull. And Mickey wasn't really one for taking risks anymore.

He also didn't really want to know who the hell had told Lip he was even gay, because he had a feeling it hadn't been his sister.

Lip's mouth twisted into a smirk that Mickey didn't completely understand, but he didn't want to look at it so he just grimace and flicked away the end of his cigarette. "The hell you running from anyways?" Lip asked him, the guy apparently deciding to be a nosey twat.

Mickey scowled down at the pavement, crushing an ant under the toe of his shoe. That was how his life had always used to be, simple. As simple as crushing an ant, except Mickey's life wasn't anything fucking like that anymore. Because he was running. He'd be damned if he let that fact get back to his sister, or even worse, fucking Firecrotch, but his life wasn't simple anymore. It had all been easy the last time he'd been in Chicago, because Mickey hadn't been going anywhere fast, or even slow and that had been fine by him because he knew he was a fuck up.

But now he had people making his life complicated. He had people depending on him and needing him to be more than he wanted to be. And he was changing because they didn't even ask, they didn't expect anything from him so somehow he felt like maybe it was his own decision to change. But he wasn't sure he liked it. He wasn't sure he liked people trusting him, it felt weird.

And yet he wouldn't change that look in Tegan's eyes for the world. He hated that he knew that.

"Nothing that fucking concerns you," he said because if he didn't he was going to ask Lip why the fuck he thought Mickey was running. And Mickey didn't want to seem that weak. But the fact that someone thought he was running, that it might be obvious was worrying. Because Mickey didn't want to look weak to anyone, but especially not to a Gallagher.

He was fucking done with letting them get under his skin and make him ashamed of who he was.

"Does if it affects Mandy," Lip said seriously and Mickey understood what he was getting at. The guy didn't give a shit that Mickey was back and he gave even less of a shit about Mickey himself. But he cared for Mandy. That much was written all over his face and Mickey sort of respected him for that even though it pissed him off at the same time. He couldn't explain why.

"It ain't nothing that's gonna concern her," Mickey said, because he'd run through the streets of Chicago announcing he was gay before he'd put his sister in Derek's path of fucking destruction. His sister had done enough for him that he didn't need to be dragging her into this.

Mickey was a lot of things, most of them not exactly good, but didn't lie about family and he'd never deny that he loved Mandy. And only Mandy could really say that.

"Good," Lip said, the answer short and sweet, to the point, "Otherwise I'll kill you myself."

"If what I'm running from hurts Mandy, you won't have the chance," Mickey said, not looking at Lip because he didn't want to know what was in Lip's eyes, "I'd already be fucking dead." And he meant that, he honestly did. He wasn't going to let anything touch his little sister, he'd let Derek shoot him in the head before that happened.

Lucky for them, Derek didn't actually know his fucking name. There wasn't really anything that could connect Kara and Tegan to his sister other than him and he hoped it remained that way.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Lip nod subtly, but his attention was already diverted by the people flooding out of the front doors of the school. He could spot Tegan's blonde head instantly, like he had a radar for her now or something, but a scowl settled on his face when he saw she was walking closely with none other than a fucking Gallagher. And to top it off, it wasn't even one of the remotely sane ones, it was Carl.

Tegan grinned when she saw him, no doubt at the expression on her face and he guessed the way she slid her arm through Carl's was deliberate. Sometimes he thought Tegan lived to piss him off. But on the bright side he supposed he did know the Gallaghers at least, he knew who to kill and begrudgingly he did sort of trust them.

"Whatcha doing here?" she asked, tugging down the hem of her skirt a little bit when she got close. He could see the goosebumps on her legs, but he knew there was no point saying anything, because she wouldn't listen to him. Just like Mandy hadn't when he'd always yelled at her to put some fucking clothes on.

"Got bored," Mickey replied, which they both knew translated into, "_I was paranoid_," but Tegan didn't call him out on it. She just smiled.

"You need some friends or something," she said, taking the cigarette he offered her and taking a deep drag from it.

Mickey snorted, "Fuck off." He'd never had them before and he didn't need to start now. He'd only ever had acquaintances, not actual friends. Family didn't count and the one person who he'd maybe been a little bit friends with hadn't counted either because they'd been fucking and Mickey had pretended too much that he didn't care.

Tegan's lips stretched into a wide grin and she handed back the cigarette after another pull from it, blowing smoke in his face because she was a little bitch like that and her sense of humour was fucked. "We going home then?" she asked after a minute or so of silence, impatient as always, "Or is this wall our new fun place or some shit?"

"Teag, we don't even have a fucking fun place so shut up," Mickey muttered, but he stood anyway and took the opportunity to glare at Carl. Thankfully, the guy wasn't actually taller than him, they were about the same height. He glared at the sociopath and seriously wondered what the fuck was wrong with Tegan's taste in men, but then the Gallaghers weren't the worse choice in the world he had to admit. Even if this one did have a screw loose. She could always do worse. "Bear in mind I know where you fucking live," Mickey reminded him through bared teeth, impressed when Carl didn't do anything more than blink and nod.

As they walked away, Tegan bumped him with her hip. "Was that really fucking necessary?" she asked, glancing at him through her lashes.

"Yes," he replied bluntly, because Mickey had never been one for beating around the bush – in more ways than one – "Because you fucking like him."

He could tell by the way she'd actually let Carl close to her, in the way she'd willingly linked their arms and in the way she'd glanced at him when he wasn't looking. Tegan liked him, he just hoped Carl was sane enough to understand threats.

"Fuck you," Tegan replied, but there was a blush creeping across her cheekbones that detracted from the venom in her voice, "That a problem?"

He stared at her for a minute, amazed that she actually seemed to care for his opinion. Even Mandy hadn't given a shit about whether or not he'd liked who she'd dated – (read 'fucked') – but here Tegan was staring at him with those wide eyes and asking for approval. He had to resist the urge to swear under his breath. He wasn't used to this, hell he wasn't fucked wired for this either.

"Like I said, least I know where he fucking lives," he replied, simply because he didn't know what else to say, "And the Gallaghers aren't complete assholes." Which was actually a compliment coming from Mickey and Tegan knew it.

She raised an eyebrow at him and he flipped her off. Laughing, she nudged him with her shoulder and he pretended that he didn't see the way that she visibly relaxed now that he'd given his approval. He pretended that didn't make him feel anything at all. Mickey was good at pretending by now.


	9. Chapter 9

Mickey settled back into the hospital chair and stared at Kara. She just looked like she was asleep, that was the part he couldn't get over. A part of him just wanted to shake her, to force her to wake up, but even Mickey wasn't that stupid. He didn't like doctors and he definitely hated hospitals, but he knew when it was just better to leave them the fuck to it.

He hated seeing Kara all hooked up with wired and tubes though, hated that the tube feeding her air was the only thing really keeping her alive. Kara had always been strong and he thought it fucking sucked that she could be reduced to this. He hated that it meant he could be to. And he hated that it sort of meant that Derek was winning.

Sure, Kara wasn't dead, but sometimes he thought that she might as well be. And then he hated himself more than he already did. Because that was the thing about Mickey that nobody seemed to understand. Most people hated him, even more people at least disliked him and he could count on one hand how many people had smiled at him and actually meant it. But no matter what Mickey did, no matter who hated him, nobody was ever going to hate him as much as Mickey hated himself. That was how it had always been, even before he'd known he was gay and his Dad and brothers had taught him to despise the very thing that he was, Mickey had hated himself.

He hated what being a Milkovich meant. He hated his lot in life. He hated that he was always going to be essentially a fuck up. But more than anything he hated who he was. Just fundamentally, he hated himself.

Kara had been the only one to ever call him out on that. Usually when she was high, she liked to tell him that he wasn't as bad as he was convinced he was. And sometimes he wanted to try and believe her; but Mickey had been hating himself for so long that he didn't remember how not to.

"She's dating a fucking Gallagher," he said, not sure whether he was saying the words more for Kara or for his benefit, "Suppose she could do worse, but the guy's a nutjob, K, seriously, he used to find peoples pets and like nuke them in the microwave or something."

He chewed on the side of his thumb and put his feet up on the bed next to her. "Least he's a Gallagher though," Mickey muttered, because for some reason he felt like he should back up his reasoning behind not just breaking Carl's kneecaps and being done with it, "And he does seem to actually like her, plus you'd probably just smack me around the back of the head and tell me to overlook the whole sociopath thing, so it's your fault this is happening."

He just thought she should know.

He leant forwards slightly and turned over her hand, pressing his thumb against the three birds tattooed on the inside of her wrist. He remembered when she'd gotten them, just after Derek had found them that time and her and Tegan had had to climb out of the window. She never said anything about them and he'd never asked, but he supposed it had something to do with the three of them always running. A bird for each of them.

Looking at them now he snorted, because he could remember being about eight and obsessed with birds. Not in the weird way that old people were so that they went bird watching. But he just thought it was amazing how they flew, how they were nothing more than bones and feathers, but they could always fly away from what was chasing them. If they were fast enough.

He remembered his brothers shooting one down, although Iggy hadn't been the best shot and had only clipped its wing. Mickey had found it before his brothers could and carried it to the vets wrapped up in his jacket. He couldn't even remember what sort of bird it was, but he didn't think it had been anything special. Either way, that had been the one good thing Mickey had ever done. He'd saved a bird.

And he'd been convinced afterwards that if that bird could fly even with a slightly damaged wing, he could fly himself. He'd been convinced that he could get away from his father, that he didn't have to run because he was better than his brothers, he was better than other Milkovichs. He'd been so sure that he was good enough that when he had to run, his feet wouldn't even touch the ground.

He'd been sure of that until his Dad had pitched him head first through a window for no reason at all. When he'd finally recovered from his concussion and his broken arm had healed, he'd realised that actually, he couldn't fly. He couldn't get away from his father or his brothers, or from Chicago, because Mickey didn't have wings and he was always going to be stuck.

That was when he'd figured that he wasn't really better than any of the other Milkovichs and so there was no point even trying to be. He thought maybe that decision had worked out to always be his downfall.

"Sir?"

Mickey snapped out of his own head and took his fingers away from Kara's wrist so quickly it was like her flesh had burnt him. He twisted around and stared at the nurse, trying to let himself seem calmer than the beating of his heart. He probably looked like a startled rabbit.

"Yeah?" he replied, looking at the woman standing there in her fancy white coat looking more clean than Mickey could ever be. She was shorter than him which he considered a good thing and her hair was a stupid shade of blonde that actually kind of made his eyes hurt.

The woman smiled at him, obviously thinking the scene was quite sweet or something. "You're Mr Milkovich, yes?" she asked, looking own at her clipboard and then back up at him, still smiling. It made Mickey feel sick, because doctors always smiled right before they delivered bad news.

"Yeah, that's me," he replied, fidgeting in his chair and picking at the side of his thumb. He didn't know why he was nervous, it didn't make any sense, but he was.

"And this is your wife?" she asked him, glancing at the clipboard again like she had some sort of twitch, "Kara Milkovich?"

He nodded, remembering which name they'd given the ambulance crew when they'd booked her into the hospital. It solved any problems with them trying to work out what to do with Tegan if people just believed they were married. It wasn't any skin off his teeth and it made his life easier so he didn't complain. Besides, he already knew the people in this hospital were to fucking lazy to try and check up on whether or not they were telling the truth.

"Well sir, my name's Dr Rush and we performed some tests on your wife earlier today to determine whether or not her condition was improving," the doctor said, "Her lung capacity needed to improve considerably before we could even consider removing her from the induced coma and off the ventilator."

Mickey stared at her, deciding that if for no other reason, he hated doctors because they never just came out and said what they knew. They always had to tiptoe around the answers. "And is it?" he asked, trying to keep the harshness out of his voice because that wouldn't have helped matters at all to piss the doctor off, "Is she improving?"

The doctor gave him a weak sort of smile, obviously thinking his hopefulness was endearing or something. Which was ironic, since Mickey had never been hopeful or endearing before in his entire life. Hope was for people who could afford it as far as he was concerned. "Well as you know she stopped breathing once not long ago and we thought perhaps that would mark a deterioration in her condition," she explained and Mickey kind of wanted to hit her with something to get her to talk, "However the recent tests showed that she is steadily beginning to improve."

Mickey didn't let himself smile, but he thought maybe he wanted to. "So you're saying she'll probably be fine?"

"I'm saying there's a strong possibility with the way things are looking," she said, smiling enough for the both of them, obviously pretending to give a shit, "However if your wife does recover enough to be taken off the ventilator and eventually discharged, her lung capacity will never be what it once was and things such as smoking would not be advised."

He snorted before he could think to stop himself. "That's going to go down well," he muttered and the doctor laughed under her breath, her head tipping back and her stupid hair swishing in the quiet of the room.

She left not long after that and after allowing himself to smile at Kara since no one could see it, Mickey didn't hang around either. He made a quick stop to someone who owed him a favour since they'd been sixteen and then ended up knocking on the Gallaghers front door of all places.

They threw parties for no fucking reason whatsoever. But they were the sort no one knew about unless they were personally invited, not like the parties the Milkovichs had always had where it was just a free for all.

He'd been asked to this one twice. First time was by Mandy and he'd affectionately told her to fuck off because there was no way he was going into a house that Ian had once lived in, that was probably stuffed full of shit that would remind him of Ian. Of course, he didn't say that last part, he just said no. The second person who asked him was Tegan, because of course she'd been invited by Carl and she'd never been to a party before because they'd never relaxed enough to have friends. And she was nervous, so she wanted Mickey to go with her, so of course Mickey took one look at those wide eyes and caved.

Of course, Tegan didn't actually say any of that. She just asked him to go. The reasoning was written all over his face though for him to see. For anyone to see if they'd actually bothered to learn Tegan's mannerisms.

"Thought you weren't coming?" Lip said when he answered the door, smirking at the same time as he frowned, which just looked fucking stupid. Not that Mickey said that of course.

"A guy can change his mind," Mickey replied, shouldering past him and into the house.

He tried not to breathe in through his nose after the first time because somehow, the smell of the place reminded him of Firecrotch. It was stupid and made him want to gouge his eyes out with a spoon, but there wasn't a lot he could do. Especially not with the grin Tegan gave him when she spotted him from the other side of the room.

She was standing by Carl, his arm looped around her waist and she was talking to Fiona, but it was obvious she was only half-interested in the conversation. He thought that it was weird watching her attempt to be polite, because with anyone else Tegan would have just walked away already.

He took the shot that she held out to him and wondered how long she'd been holding it, waiting for him to arrive. He pretended that he hadn't seen the nervous look on her face before she'd spotted him. He knocked back the shot, pulling air through his teeth in a hiss at the taste. "She's improving," he said by way of a greeting and Tegan's face lit up like a fucking Christmas tree, "Slowly, but she is improving."

"All the more reason to get drunk then," she said, beaming and Mickey snorted.

"Thanks for offering, I'd love a beer," he said and she swatted him on the arm, but went to get him one anyway.

Although as soon as she'd gone, he thought maybe he regretted that she had, because he was left standing there with Carl who freaked him out because he was unhinged mentally and Fiona who freaked him out even more because she was looking at him like she was expecting something. She looked confused, but still expectant at the same time.

"What?" he asked eventually, trying not to glare at Fiona when he looked at her, but not really succeeding. He couldn't help it though, despite himself, he was nervous. And he knew that was stupid, because Mickey had never needed anyone's approval. But for some reason he found himself thinking that maybe getting a Gallagher to actually tolerate him wouldn't be such a bad thing, because it would lead to Firecrotch maybe tolerating him eventually.

He felt like punching himself in the head for those thoughts, because it wasn't like he even wanted Firecrotch to fucking tolerate him. He didn't need him to. He didn't need anyone to. What he _needed_ and what he _wanted_ was for Derek to take a fucking bullet to the head, Kara to heal and wake up and for them to be able to get the fuck out of Chicago.

He supposed that even if just one of those things happened, he'd be happy.

"Just trying to work out how the neighbourhood thug managed to become an actual responsible human being," Fiona said, her tone light and not at all sarcastic, which confused him. But then he didn't know a lot about Fiona. He just knew that she'd stepped up to the plate when her mother had left and had pretty much single-handedly raised the Gallagher kids. He knew Ian had adored her and looked up to her and that the redhead hadn't known where the hell any of them would have been without her.

Probably in foster homes all around the fucking country.

Mickey had never had anyone give that much of a shit about him. None of his brothers had tried to raise him or Mandy when their mum left. His Dad certainly hadn't given a shit, kind of like Frank. No, it had been Mickey who'd had to shoulder more of the responsibility, even though he hadn't really done much of a job. He'd looked after Mandy, protected her, made sure she actually turned out better than the rest of them. But he'd never openly admitted to filling that role.

It had been more of a subtle sort of thing.

"Yeah well," Mickey replied, rubbing his bottom lip, "Things change."

People changed. But then Mickey didn't think he actually had. He just happened to have found two people who were just as fucked as he was and they'd clicked. He'd say he'd taken them under his wing, but it had probably been more the other way around.

"Well good for you," Fiona said and reached out to pat his shoulder which made him cringe a little. Not because of the touch, but because the smile on her face when she'd done that had reminded him far too much of Ian. He didn't like being in this house, he'd already worked that much out. He felt awkward and out of place, but at the same time it all felt too familiar. He'd only been in the Gallagher house once and that was when Ian had assured him they were home alone and they'd had a quick fuck upstairs. It wasn't much of a story and Mickey had seen much of the house, but it was still enough for him to know that the air still felt the same and it still reminded him too much of Ian for him to be even remotely comfortable.

He just grunted, relieved when Tegan reappeared and handed him a beer. He drained half of it and she laughed at him, the sound slightly harsh, but it was still more like she was laughing with him than at him. "Shuttup," he muttered, flicking the neck of the bottle she was drinking from.

She choked and spluttered and glared at him, but all he did was throw his head back and laugh. She only pretended to be pissed for all of few minutes. Mickey didn't know how to feel about the way that they all seemed to stare at him when he picked Tegan up to carry her home when she passed out on the couch. He'd be damned if he was letting her stay here because he knew Ian was due back the next day and Mickey wasn't going to be coming by to pick her up. Except if she stayed, he knew he would. Of course, the excuse he gave was that he wasn't having her sharing a bed with fucking Carl like would have happened if she'd stayed and people actually seemed to accept that pretty quick, which said something about how obvious it was that Mickey cared for Tegan.

He didn't know whether or not the fact it was obvious was supposed to piss him off.


	10. Chapter 10

Mickey wouldn't admit it, but the first time he actually saw Ian again, he hid.

Thankfully he was on his own and was walking on his way to get beer when he saw that familiar redhead on the other side of the road. Mickey had ducked behind a truck so fast anyone would have thought he was a fucking ninja; and admittedly, a few people did look at him a little strangely. But Mickey didn't give a fuck.

Thankfully, he was on his own, so nobody who would actually comment was there to do so. And he didn't give a damn if people were thinking he was some loon, they would probably just assume he was on something. But he refused to just casually bump into Ian fucking Gallagher in the middle of the street. That was not happening. So Mickey pretended his feet were glued to the ground and watched through the truck's window as Gallagher wandered down the street.

Begrudgingly, Mickey had to admit he looked good. He'd bulked up and it seemed gotten even fucking taller, which Mickey thought was stupid. But then he could have just thought that because he hadn't grown an inch since he was seventeen and it was just fucking annoying. Yet another way he was unlucky in life.

Ian stopped and talked to someone, a wide smile on his face that for some reason Mickey didn't think was completely genuine. He couldn't explain it. He just didn't think it was. Then again, he didn't know Gallagher well enough anymore to be able to say. He hated that he'd ever known Ian that well. Hated that he'd ever known Ian at all, because it had caused nothing but problems.

For the both of them.

But Ian looked good, he didn't look like the past haunted him like a ghost every time he slept. Or like he was so full of regrets that he didn't know what it felt like not to have them. He didn't look like he hated himself, or that he thought maybe the world was out to get him because life was just that shit. He didn't look like Mickey did when he looked at himself in a mirror.

He didn't look like a fuck up, but then Gallagher never had done. He'd always been destined to get out, to live his amazing fucking life and be all great and shit. That wasn't Mickey. Never had been and never would be. And regrettably, Mickey was sort of pleased for him. Or at least he would have been if he'd let the thoughts in his head get that far.

Ian finished talking to the person, hugged them with a laugh and moved on and Mickey wanted to stop staring, to at least stop hiding, but he couldn't. He didn't even blink, not until Ian rounded the corner and moved out of sight. Only then did he straighten up and crack the bottom of his back by pushing his fists into the base of his spine and leaning back.

He thought for some stupid reason that maybe that would make him feel better. It hadn't done. Not at all. He put that down to the fact that he knew he was going to have to face Ian at some point and he didn't like the prospects in his head of how the hell that was going to go. Which was worrying. But then, Mickey had never been in control when it came to Firecrotch and lately, even more things about his life were becoming harder to control.

It was just under a month later when he actually ran into Ian and couldn't avoid it. Admittedly, he did consider just running away immediately – or at least walking very quickly – but he refused to let himself seem that weak. And there was the fact that it was too hot for him to wait outside and this had been where he'd said he'd meet Tegan.

When he walked into the Alibi Room, Ian was already sitting there on one of the stools, nursing a beer just like most of the overheating fucks in the room and idly chit-chatting to Kev. Mickey cursed under his breath when someone took one of the two free barstools and left the only free one next to Ian. But Mickey wasn't any sort of fucking coward, so he just gritted his teeth and walked over.

Kev nodded when he saw him, because annoyingly they'd actually developed a weird sort of companionship. It wasn't a friendship, but Mickey came in often enough to be considered a regular. He always came in between finishing breaking kneecaps and meeting up with Tegan. And every single time he went into the hospital to see Kara, he had to have a drink afterwards. Sometimes he was with his sister or Lip, but most of the time he was on his own.

Scratching his stomach, Mickey rapped his knuckles on the bar top by way of a greeting. "Where you just come from?" Kev asked him, obviously seeing something in Mickey's expression that said he looked stressed. That wasn't even the half of it.

Especially not now he knew Ian was looking at him, that the redhead had noticed he was there. He didn't say anything though and Mickey didn't look at him. He couldn't bring himself to, because he didn't know what that would give away.

"The hospital," Mickey said, which wasn't a lie. And it was part of the reason he was stressed out. Because that time he'd been having the burns on his legs checked up on and it had just been yet another reminder of what had happened. Mickey didn't like thinking about it. "I'll just have the usual anyways."

Kev nodded, because he knew about Kara by now, just like a lot of them did. They didn't know what had happened, they just knew that Tegan's mother was in a coma in the hospital. They knew better than to ask too many questions, because Mickey had punched the last person who had in the face. He slid him a pint and a shot of whisky, just like always and Mickey grunted out his thanks as he sat down.

He knocked the shot back with nothing more than the slightest grimace and then washed his mouth out with a gulp of beer. He hated the taste of whiskey like Kara did weed. He only drank it because it made him feel just as numb as several pints would do. Mickey could be weird with alcohol.

"Had a fun day breaking bones?" Kev asked conversationally, oblivious to the tension that hung in between Ian and Mickey. Mickey made sure that even though he was sitting next to him, they weren't close enough to actually touch. He knew that even just a subtle touch would undo him. He fucking hated knowing that.

Mickey smirked because that was an expression he was comfortable with. "Less damage to be done in hot weather for some reason," Mickey said, rubbing his bottom lip with the hand damp and slightly cool from gripping his beer, "Not that it fucking bothers me, I still get paid." It just meant he got to doss around all day.

"Hear you took T with you the other day," Kev said, obviously not completely sure what he was supposed to make of that.

"Only on a house call," he replied, knowing the expression on his face let Kev know perfectly well how little Mickey appreciated his suspicions that he wasn't up to scratch looking after Tegan, "It's her form of entertainment and gets her away from the fucking sociopath."

He still hadn't quite made up his mind whether or not he approved of that, but he didn't really care or have the right to comment.

"Who Carl?" Kev asked, smirking at the description of the kid. Because even he had to admit it was accurate.

"Yeah."

When Kev got called away to serve some more people at the other end of the bar, it was far too easy for Mickey to feel the weight of the silence between him and Ian. If anybody looked, it would have just looked like two people casually, separately having a drink. Except there was nothing casual about it. Mickey was so high strung he felt like he was about to snap under the tension.

Occasionally he thought that Ian was about to say something, but he didn't look so he couldn't be sure. He didn't want to know either, because sitting like that it meant neither of them were cowards. Or at least they were equally cowardly, because neither of them were speaking.

Mickey was halfway through considering whether he wanted to shoot himself of Gallagher just to stop the awkwardness and begrudgingly he was leaning towards shooting himself because he was gay like that. And besides, Gallagher had enough opportunities to get shot. But then Tegan walked in dressed in flip-flops, shorts and one of Mickey's shirts that had 'If you can read this, get the fuck out of my space' written across the chest in small writing. Except that she'd tucked the bottom up into her bra so that there was far too much flesh showing.

It made him scowl for a new reason.

She grinned at Mickey and leant against the bar next to him. "I'll have a beer," she said by way of hello, leaning across and dipping her hand into his pocket and pulling out a cigarette. She looked directly at Ian when she asked, "You got a light?"

Mickey snatched the smoke out of her fingers before Ian could reply. "You're not having a fucking beer," he said, turning to Kev as he lit up the cigarette himself with the battered lighter in his pocket, "She'll have a coke." He handed it her back and smirked at her scowl.

She said nothing, just blew smoke into his face.

Someone squeezed onto the barstool next to Mickey and he knew that without looking because Tegan pressed closer to him without even probably realising she did it. She didn't like people she didn't trust too close to her, kind of like Mickey actually. He stood up wordlessly and she slid into his vacated barstool with nothing more than a slight tilt of her head. Her fingers curled around his pint and she took a large mouthful before he prodded her hard in the ribs and she put it back down again.

He laughed at the foam on her top lip and she shoved at him. Which was when he realised he'd got off the barstool on the wrong fucking side. His back hit Gallagher's arm and he jerked away quickly like he was burnt. Maybe he was, because he'd always used to think that Gallagher's touch burned him, but burned underneath the skin where no one else could see it, but so that Mickey could definitely feel the marks there.

He thought it was fucking ironic he was burned visibly now too. Maybe it was karma or some shit.

Tegan reached around Mickey's back and pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and paid Kev for her coke, putting it back on the counter afterwards because she obviously couldn't be bothered to replace it again. He did it himself. "Can you actually cook tonight?" Tegan asked eventually, breaking the silence in which Mickey was all too aware of Gallagher behind him, but he refused to turn around, "Because I'm kind of bored of fucking takeaway food."

It was true, they had sort of been living off of that and whatever Mandy cooked when they went around hers. Being domestic wasn't Mickey's strong point, that wasn't his fault.

"You're the woman, last time I checked you're supposed to do the cooking," he said, a smirk on his lips.

That earned him a pointy elbow in the ribs. "That's sexist you douche," she said, stating the obvious, "And you wouldn't eat anything I cooked anyway."

"True," he muttered. Tegan could shoot a target dead on with any gun handed to her and she oculd also throw a knife just as accurately, but she couldn't cook for shit.

They fell into that easy sort of silence after that that they often had, except there was still tension in Mickey's shoulders because of the person behind him that wouldn't normally have been there. He wondered if Tegan noticed. "By the way, I need some money for a field trip or something later this week," she said eventually, after she swirled coke around her mouth in that way she'd gotten off her mother.

Thankfully, Tegan didn't spit it out; the kid actually liked the taste of weed.

"You actually want to go on one of those shitty things?" he asked, eyebrows raised.

He could tell from the way Tegan shrugged that yes, she definitely did. She wouldn't admit to it though.

"Remind me to give you money closer to the time," he said and the smile she gave him was almost worth the way that he felt Gallagher tense up behind him because of the softer tone of Mickey's voice, "But I want my shirt back." He pointed to what she was wearing.

Tegan laughed, her head tipped back in a way that was so carefree that nobody would have had a clue that their life was a pile of shit. Nobody would have guessed that she had her abusive Dad desperate to find her and the same guy even more desperate to kill her mother. Or that said mother was in a medically induced coma right that very second.

"But I look so much better in it," she said, "You just look creepily pale when you wear black." She smirked at him because she was a cocky bitch and he had to admit, she did pull the expression off well. Not that he'd tell her that, ever.

"Bitch, I am not getting fashion advice from you," he said, "Talk to me when you put some more fucking clothes on."

Of all responses she could have had, Tegan pouted, "Why? I thought I looked good." She smoothed her hands across her thighs and stubbed out her second cigarette on the bar top. He couldn't actually remember when she'd finished the first.

"You'd look just as good with more clothes on," he muttered, trying to keep the words under his breath, because of who was behind him. But he knew Ian heard anyway.

"Well Carl likes the way I dress," she said, batting her eyelashes at him in the way she knew pissed him off for no reason whatsoever, "He always says the shorter the better."

Mickey pulled a face because as much as he pretended he didn't give a fuck, he hated the thoughts in his head. "It's like you want me to gut him," he muttered, clenching and unclenching his fists down by his sides.

Tegan chuckled under her breath and fidgeted on the stool, which let him know what she was about to ask even before she asked it. "How was the hospital?" she asked, twisting to face him and her fingers twitching like she thought maybe she should reach out and offer him some sort of comfort. But that wasn't how they worked, so after a second her fingers lay still flat against the bar top.

"Shit," Mickey replied, pulling a face that she laughed at because she looked like if she didn't she was going to cry. Mickey knew how that felt, but he was more pleased than he could ever say that she didn't cry. It would have just freaked him out.

"You drop by to see mum?" she asked quickly afterwards, obviously not wanting to linger on the matter of Mickey's burns because she knew better than anyone how much they bothered him. She'd given up trying to persuade him that he should be proud of them, because he'd saved her mother's life. To him, they were still fucking ugly, so that bit didn't matter.

Well, it mattered, but it wasn't the first thing that he thought of when he saw the burns. And he felt like a dick for that, he honestly did.

"Yeah, she's the same as always," he replied, handing her the last of his beer because it was like fucking instinct now or something.

"At least the same isn't worse."

Which was true. But the same still wasn't awake, unfortunately.

Tegan knocked back the last of his beer and scrubbed a hand through her hair. "I'm going t' piss," she informed him, oh-so-classily, flashing him a grin that was all teeth before sliding off of the barstool.

Mickey had to dig his nails into the palms of his hands to stop himself from punching at least one of the many guys who leered after her. He sat back down in her vacated seat, pleased for the little extra space between him and Ian. Not that it made much difference because he could still feel that one accidental touch on his back, making his skin feel even more hot and sticky than it was. He was actually pretty sure he looked gross.

The only good thing he could find about Ian being there was that from the way he kept tensing up, Gallagher definitely hadn't completely forgotten about Mickey. That didn't mean he cared, but it meant he hadn't forgotten and Mickey hated that his brain instantly started trying to make something out of that. He shouldn't give a shit. He _didn't_ give a shit. Or at least that was what he told himself.

Someone knocked into him and because Mickey was already so on edge, he didn't hesitate to whip around to glare at the person. They flinched under the weight of his scowl, but carried on walking. The only problem was, Mickey was now forced to actually look at Gallagher, or at least let his eyes pass over him. Once he looked though, he couldn't quite remember how to look away.

It did make it a little better that Ian stared at him right back, both of them just seeming to be frozen, but Ian's face was as blank as Mickey prayed his was and he didn't know how the hell to read the situation. Except, actually, he did know how to control it.

"Didn't get your fucking ass shot off then," he said gruffly, slapping some money down on the bar top for Kev and standing. He didn't look away from Ian until Tegan was standing beside him. And then he just did what he did best, he turned around and got the fuck out of there. Except this time he wasn't the coward. He'd said something, he'd been the one to do it, to break the silence.

That was point one to Mickey.

He still felt like his heart was having an epileptic fit inside of his chest, but he tried not to focus on that. He just walked out into the fucking uncomfortable heat and wondered when the hell he'd started racking up points between him and Gallagher.


	11. Chapter 11

Ian wished he understood it, but he really didn't.

He'd gone away and had expected everything to be just like it always was. But then he'd come back and nothing had been the same at all. Nobody had even forewarned him or anything. Not once. They'd just left him to discover on his own and he couldn't have possibly discovered in a worse way.

Admittedly, he had been convinced that he'd spotted Mickey Milkovich out of the corner of his eye once when going to get some beer, but he'd shaken that off as him being stupid and as him seeing things. Because Mickey had cleared out of Chicago a long time ago. Well, okay, maybe six years wasn't such a long time, but it felt longer when Ian hadn't even seen Mickey since he'd run off to kill Frank. He'd been too scared of rejection to visit him in Juvie and he'd thought it was probably for the best afterwards to just force all thoughts of the ex-con from his mind. _Right_?

So why was it that ever since he'd caught that glimpse, he'd had to force himself to stop thinking about Mickey? And even worse, why was it that he felt almost _happy_ when he saw Mickey in the Alibi Room? Because he shouldn't have done. He should have hated seeing Mickey there. He should have hated that Mickey still walked on the earth after everything that had been said. But he didn't.

It seemed like it had always been Ian's fate to see something good in people where there probably was none at all.

He'd been talking to Kev about his latest stint in the army, about when he had to go back – which was in four months' time – and he hadn't even looked at the guy who sat down next to him, he'd been too preoccupied with trying to keep cool. But then he'd spoken and there had been Mickey, acting so casually it was like he didn't even know Ian at all.

And that hurt, that had really hurt, but Ian had just been too shocked to say anything. Plus, there was a limited amount he could say in public anyway. The brief conversation that the ex-con had with Kev put more questions in Ian's mind than he thought was possible. Like, _why was he at the hospital? Did the fact he was getting paid for something mean he had a job? Was he working for drug dealers again breaking legs? If so, did that mean he was sticking around in Chicago again? Who was T? Did Mickey even remember him or was he purposefully ignoring him?_

He was so engrossed in the questions in his head and in not looking at Mickey that he didn't notice someone else walk up and join them. Not until that person addressed him, asking him for a light. She was pretty girl, around fifteen or sixteen if he had to guess. Her hair was about shoulder length and was a natural shade of blonde-brown. Her eyes were a strange shade of blue, making her look almost eerie. But it was the pain in the depths of them that almost had him flinching. She was dressed sort of like Mandy had used to dress when they were younger, in clothes that consisted of far too little material.

Mickey snatched the cigarette she was holding out of her fingers and lit it himself, not looking at Ian. That was the thing that caused him to catch on to the fact that this girl was there to see Mickey. It hadn't occurred to him that Mickey would be waiting for anybody. He'd been a little busy letting his thoughts run away with themselves. "You're not having a fucking beer," Mickey said to the girl in a weirdly authorative and sort of parental way. It was weird. "She'll have a coke," he told Kev and the girl just blew smoke into Mickey's face in response.

He was stunned when Mickey gave up his seat for her, without even needing to be asked to and he wondered then if Mickey had changed. Except the way that Mickey had been before the girl had turned up hadn't really been any different to how he'd always been. And Mickey was still just as rude and dirty. It was confusing.

When Mickey was knocked back against him, it felt like a shock of electricity crackled through his entire body. He didn't know how else to explain it. All he knew was that for some fucked up reason, he was disappointed when Mickey jerked away quickly. Like Ian had branded him or something.

The conversation between Mickey and the girl was confusing. It was mostly banter, but when they talked of hospitals, Ian could have cut the tension in the air with a knife and he thought it was stupid how a small part of him – a part that should have long since died – hoped Mickey hadn't been to the hospital for anything serious. Because Ian was still stupid enough to worry about someone who didn't give a damn, obviously.

Then again, what was even more ridiculous was the fact that he'd actually found himself jealous of the girl and the soft tone she'd managed to pull out of Mickey when he'd spoken to her. He'd never heard Mickey talk to anyone like that and it made him feel sick. He couldn't even think up words for why the hell that was logical.

When someone bumped against Mickey when the girl went to the toilet, the ex-con whipped around and Ian saw him face to face for the first time. Mickey finally had to look at him and Ian had no problem then doing the same. The first thing that struck him was that Mickey looked like he'd aged. He looked stressed out and tired, on edge. There were dark smudges under his eyes that stood out strong against his pale skin. He was sweaty and a little dirty, stubble on his jaw and his hair sticking up in a complete mess all over his head. Mickey had never been anything pretty to look at, but he'd never been undesirable. His skin was sheened with sweat and his breath rasped a little when he breathed in, a tell-tale sign of too many cigarettes.

He stared back at Ian and his blue eyes were guarded against the world, which wasn't anything new, but Ian thought maybe now it was to a new extreme. Mickey was still handsome in a rugged sort of way and he'd only really improved with age even though he did look like he needed to drink less and sleep more. Mickey looked like life had been hard on him and Ian thought it was weird for him to think that since he'd been the one to go to a fucking war zone.

But still. Mickey looked like he'd been through hell.

He saw a muscle in Mickey's jaw twitch and could see a decision being made behind Mickey's blue eyes, even though the ex-con obviously didn't want anybody to be able to spot that. For a moment, he thought he caught a glimpse of the same pain and fear that had been in the girl's eyes, but he couldn't be sure.

"Didn't get your ass shot off then."

It took a minute for him to even realise that Mickey had spoken to him, because he hadn't expected him to. He'd thought Mickey would just leave with nothing more than a glare hanging between them. So words surprised him.

He didn't have time to even think how to formulate a reply before Mickey was standing up and leaving, the girl by his side. Ian watched Mickey's retreating figure until the door to the Alibi Room swung shut behind him.

"_Didn't get your ass shot off then_."

So Mickey hadn't forgotten about him. For a moment he wondered if that comment meant Mickey had been thinking about him, about whether or not he'd died out there at war. But that was definitely classed as Ian getting his hopes up, so he stamped them down as quick as he could.

"So Mickey's back then?" he asked, hoping the words didn't sound as dumb and needy to Kev as they did to himself.

Kev didn't seem to think the conversation was a strange one at all, so that was something at least.

"Yeah, him and Tegan arrived not that long ago," he said, handing Ian another beer. Ian was assuming the girl had been Tegan. "Can't quite work out if it was to see Mandy that he turned up here or just because it was convenient what with Tegan's mum being in the hospital and all."

Ian wondered if that explained the pain in the girl's eyes. He wondered if it could explain the glimpse he'd seen in Mickey's. He wasn't sure, but then he also didn't know how the hell Mickey had wound up being associated with people who weren't drug dealers.

"So he's staying with Mandy then?" Ian asked, not liking the idea of Mickey mooching off of his sister or something like that. He didn't think Mickey would do that to her, but then Mandy had been missing Mickey for years now. Everyone knew that. Ian thought Terry finally dying could have had something to do with Mickey's reappearance.

Kev shook his head. "Nah, him and that girl you just saw have their own place," he said, running a hand through his longish hair and looking tired, "And before you get any creepy ideas, Tegan's dating your brother, I think Mickey's more like a big brother or a Dad to her or something."

And that hadn't really been what Ian had been thinking at all, but he had wondered.

"Who Carl?" he asked, because that would explain the mentions earlier. He hadn't really thought much on that, he'd been too preoccupied in having Mickey close enough to him that he could feel the other man's body heat rolling off of him. Something that should have been uncomfortable given the weather.

Kev nodded, "According to Lip, he really likes her."

Which meant it was even more important that Mickey was actually sticking around, because that didn't happen to Carl very often. And even fewer times did a girl actually like his brother back. Carl was an odd one though, so it was sort of understandable.

After that he felt like he was seeing Mickey everywhere.

He'd see him in the street, often with that girl Tegan, sometimes without. He saw him on the El and under it. He saw him standing around outside the high school and when he drank in the Alibi Room. He passed him once leaving Mandy's as he arrived. That time he stood for while on the other side of the road, partially hidden by a car and watched as the girl Tegan blew a lungful of smoke into his face and he picked her up and jumped off the porch steps with her. He'd never heard Mickey laugh quite like that before, hadn't seen him that carefree and he hated that it made him jealous.

He didn't think Mickey spotted him most of the time that Ian saw the ex-con, which he counted as a good thing because then it meant Ian wasn't pussying out by not saying anything. He would, if he knew what the hell he wanted to say. Except he didn't. He didn't have a clue. And Ian had always been the one to do the talking.

When he finally did get to speak to Mickey though, given what happened, he really wished he hadn't had the opportunity at all. Because what happened made him wonder just what the hell Mickey had gotten himself into this time and then he just hated himself even more for caring.


	12. Chapter 12

The day it happened, Ian came downstairs to find Carl stretched out on the couch with the girl Tegan lying back against him. They were playing on an Xbox that he didn't know they actually had, but then he supposed that the girl could have brought it over. He thought it was weird, because he'd never seen Carl that relaxed or that happy. He just looked completely content, which was strange because the guy always moved about like he was on fire. He always acted like he had too much energy and like he was about to burst if he didn't do something. And usually that something was never a good thing.

In a lot of ways, Carl reminded him of Mickey. He couldn't completely explain why, but he thought it might have been that at Carl's age Mickey had always been exactly the same. He'd always been moving fast in no particular direction, but not looking like he even knew how to stop. The comparison made sense in Ian's brain, but probably wouldn't to a lot of other people. Mickey would hate that comparison, he knew that, because Carl had always freaked Mickey the fuck out.

It was sort of understandable. The word sociopathic came to mind when thinking about his brother if Ian was being honest.

"Isn't it too hot to be inside?" Ian asked neither of them in particular.

It was Tegan who turned around, an arm slung casually across the back of the sofa. A muscle in her arm twitched and he had a feeling that she was assessing him. Her eyes were freaky; and that wasn't just the unusual colour. It was the fact that he felt like she was trying to tear him apart with just her gaze. It sort of made him want to hand her all of his secrets on a silver platter just so that she wouldn't hurt him. Which was stupid, because he'd been in fucking warzones. A teenage girl shouldn't have worried him, not at all. But she still did.

"You're the guy from the Alibi," she said eventually, chewing at her bottom lip for a second and tilting her head a little bit more to the side.

Ian knew that his surprise for her remembering that showed on his face. "Yeah," he said, "I'm Ian."

"He's the fucking do-gooder in the family," Carl put in, toying with a piece of Tegan's hair, "He's a fucking officer in the army." Carl had never liked what Ian did, he thought it was pointless to go get shot for someone who wasn't yourself or your blood. Ian had given up trying to make him understand, because he knew that Carl was completely set in his way and he wasn't ever going to understand something like joining the army.

He could have sworn there was something close to recognition flickering in Tegan's eyes, but the shutters slammed closed almost immediately and her expression just went blank. It was obviously a trait she'd managed to pick up from Mickey.

He almost wanted to ask about Mickey, but he didn't know how he could phrase that question. So instead he just scratched at the back of his neck and stood there awkwardly for a second. "You guys should go in the pool or something," he said after a minute, "It's too hot to be sitting inside."

Carl rolled his eyes, but he didn't miss the almost hopeful look in Tegan's eyes that appeared. And that was why ten minutes later, Tegan was kitted out in one of Fiona's old bikinis and the three of them were in the pool outside. It was hot enough that the water wasn't that cold, it was almost luke warm and it felt sort of like bath water, but Ian kept that observation to himself.

He was too busy watching Tegan, watching the way that she insisted she bring her clothes outside with her and folded them up neatly, putting them close enough to the pool that it was a risk that they could get wet. But she didn't care, she'd said so when Ian had pointed out that she might want to move them a little further away. He thought there was something weird about the way her eyes kept flitting back to the clothes, checking on them, memorising where they were. But he didn't say anything and he tried to push it out of his mind.

"I don't normally do anything like this in the summer," she commented, slicking back her wet hair with her hands and for a second Ian thought that she looked even prettier than usual with none of the make-up on her face. She had a slight smudge of black under her eyes where she hadn't quite managed to take off all of her make-up, but that was easy to overlook.

Being gay, Ian could look at a person objectively. And objectively speaking, Carl was a lucky guy.

"Why not?" Carl asked the question Ian had been thinking, "You never go swimming?"

"I know how to swim dumbass, obviously," she said, rolling her eyes, "But Mickey isn't really much for this sort of thing, so in New York we just used to sit on our shitty little balcony and get high." She looked like she treasured those sorts of memories, Ian could tell from her expression.

What he couldn't help was the way that his interest peaked at the mention of Mickey's name. He hoped she didn't notice, but he had a horrible feeling that she did.

"You guys were in New York?" he said, finding it hard to keep the surprise out of his voice because he could remember Mickey slagging the city off a lot. He hadn't ever liked the hype that people associated with it. Although secretly Ian had always thought it had something more to do with WestPoint being just outside of New York.

"Yeah, the shittier part though," Tegan said, jumping on Carl's back and Ian was surprised by how easily she got him into a headlock. She dunked him, laughing and then let go, squealing when he grabbed her legs and pulled her against him. She looked at Ian over Carl's shoulder, her arms and legs wound around him. "Suppose at least my mum and Mickey weren't working for drug dealers this time?"

Ian knew his eyebrows had flown up, but he couldn't help it. "This time?"

Tegan shrugged. "Yeah, when we all met they were working for some drug dealer I can't remember the name of, mum was pushing the drugs and Mickey used to break peoples legs and shit," she looked like she found that prospect entertaining and if she was anything like Mickey, she did, "But they actually got normal jobs this time around."

He wanted to ask why they'd moved around, because it sounded like they'd done so a lot. And he also wanted to ask about how she'd met Mickey and who her mother was and what the hell had happened. But he didn't have the courage. Especially not when Mickey appeared, sauntering across the street towards them, his shirt thrown over his shoulder and his skin shining with a layer of sweat.

He'd packed on more muscle since Ian had last seen him shirtless. His shoulders and collarbones were tinged pink by the sun, his skin still almost eerily pale. He'd had his hair cut since the last time that Ian had seen him and it was spiked up in its usual messy way that looked like he'd literally just rolled out of bed. Ian would have believed that if he hadn't seen Mickey putting gel in his hair once back when they'd been fucking.

"Mickey, you're fucking burning," Tegan said by way of greeting, her features mashing up into a scowl as she crossed her arms over the edge of the pool, staring at Mickey with those freaky coloured eyes.

Mickey snorted and sucked on the cigarette he just lit. "You think I give a fuck?" he asked, but there was something in his expression that almost made it seem like they were sharing a private joke. Maybe they were, he was guessing so judging by the smile that turned up the corners of Tegan's mouth slightly.

"No, but I ain't listening to you fucking bitching for the next few days," she said, climbing out of the pool and Ian didn't miss the way that Mickey automatically reached out to steady her as her feet hit the ground. "Ian, can we borrow some of this?" she asked, picking up the bottle of sun cream that Ian had used, because like Mickey, he burnt way too easily.

He nodded without really focusing on what the hell he had just been asked. He was all too aware of Mickey looking at him, but by the time Ian glanced his way, the ex-con looked back at Tegan again. It almost made Ian miss the days when Mickey would hold his stare, daring him to talk about the things Ian saw in Mickey's eyes.

Mickey pulled a face when Tegan wiped her wet hands on his shorts, but turned around obligingly so that she could rub sun cream into the back of his shoulders. He scowled when she pressed her slippery hands to his face, leaving too big handprints across his features.

She laughed, her head tipped back towards the sky and her expression completely carefree as Mickey scrubbed at his face with his hands, rubbing in the cream. "Bitch," he muttered under his breath, but Ian only just had time to hear that.

Mickey hit the floor when Tegan slammed the heels of her hands into his pecks. Caught by surprise he stumbled backwards and the shots went off just as he hit the floor. Everything was a sort of blur after that. Tegan took a shot to the shoulder that had been meant for Mickey and Ian jumped out of the pool before he could even register that he'd moved, catching her before she hit the ground.

"Clothes," Tegan said, staring at Mickey and pointing and Mickey rolled and grabbed the gun that had been hidden in the pile of Tegan's clothes as the car started to speed off down the street. Ian could safely say he had never seen Mickey look so concentrated or so angry as he raised his arm and fired at the car from where the shots had been fired. The back window exploded, as did the tires and the car swerved, connecting with a tree just down the road.

Mickey was taking off before Ian could even think to try and stop him; and Ian was following as soon as Carl took his place, pressing his hands over the wound on his girlfriend's shoulder. Ian could feel the adrenaline pounding through his veins, making his vision seem sharper and everything so much louder. It reminded him of being in a warzone, but this time when he ran he didn't have a gun in his hands and he was wearing nothing more than a pair of swimming shorts.

Mickey jerked open the door of the car and hauled out someone that Ian recognised as one of the other Milkovich brothers. Mickey shoved the gun up under his brothers chin, pressing the older man into the car and Ian had never seen Mickey look so terrifying. The calculating stare had faded away, replaced by an anger that was practically burning in his eyes.

But his brother – Ian thought maybe it was Iggy – just sneered and stared back at Mickey like he was daring him to pull the trigger. "You shot the wrong fucking girl," Mickey snarled out, pressing the gun harder against the underside of Iggy's chin.

"Wasn't aware you were into those," Iggy replied, smirking and his voice full of a malicious sort of laughter.

Mickey hit his brother across the face with the side of the gun at the same time as Tony reached them, obviously having run out of his house upon hearing the shots. For once Mickey chose the option of staying out of jail and backed off away from his brother, spitting on the floor near to the guy. He tucked the gun into the back of his trousers and walked away as Tony slapped cuffs onto Iggy.

The driver of the car was slumped against the steering wheel and Ian had seen enough dead people to know that the guy was gone. He couldn't really say he was sorry.

"Nice shot," Tegan ground out through her teeth when Mickey reached her, what little colour he ever had in his face having long since drained out. Her fingers laced with Mickey's on the ground and squeezed.

Mickey offered her a weak smile in response to her comment, but more than anything he looked like he was about to be sick.

"Ambulance is on its way," Carl said and for a second Ian was surprised at how quickly his brother had sorted that out. Normally he wasn't one for thinking logically.

"That was meant for me," Mickey said, his voice dead-sounding as he scowled down at Tegan, "You weren't supposed to take a fucking bullet for me, T."

She just rolled her eyes. "Well if we're tallying up shit like that, then that fire was meant for me," she replied and Ian didn't understand, but he wasn't completely sure that he wanted to, "Who was it? Your brothers?"

"Iggy," Mickey said and Ian couldn't work out why for some reason they both looked relieved by the fact that it had been Mickey's brother who'd just tried to kill them. Or at least tried to kill Mickey. _Who the fuck else is after them?_ "That's what we get for being in fucking Chicago."

Tegan smiled and Ian saw her squeeze Mickey's fingers. "It hurts," she muttered, her voice low like her words were supposed to be a secret. Her eyes were locked on Mickey and Ian wanted to look away to give them a bit of privacy or something, but he couldn't bring himself to.

"I know," Mickey said, shifting so that he was kneeling a little closer to her, "Being shot's a bitch."

That surprised her. "Who shot you?" she asked, her thumb brushing over the back of Mickey's hand and Ian didn't miss the way that Mickey's eyes flickered towards him. Because Ian remembered when Mickey had been shot, he remembered it too well. He could remember how scared he'd been when he'd heard the shot, how he'd forgotten everything when Mickey had hit the floor, hadn't even cared that Kash could have shot him too.

"Just some asshole," Mickey said, smirking in a way that implied that the expression was supposed to be a smile, "It was over a fucking Snickers bar."

Ian exhaled loudly, not even realising that he'd been holding his breath.

"Where'd he shoot you?" she asked, wincing when Carl shifted his grip on her shoulder, putting more pressure on it. Ian could see the blood seeping through his fingers and Carl's skin seemed to be stained with it. But he didn't care at all. His face was set in complete concentration, which was a strange expression because Ian had never seen Carl look that concentrated other than when he was blowing something up.

"Leg," Mickey replied, squeezing her hand hard enough to make Tegan wince, but she didn't complain. Ian suspected that maybe that short squeeze had grounded her somehow. She was looking pale, a little too pale, but they could all hear the scream of sirens not far away.

Tegan choked out a laugh that sounded like she wasn't getting enough oxygen. Ian was surprised that she hadn't gone into shock or something. Normally that was what people did. But Mickey hadn't when he'd been shot and Ian thought maybe it was Mickey's influence that was causing Tegan to be eerily calm. Or maybe it was just something about her personality.

"You need to be careful," she said, the humour in her voice weak, but nevertheless there, "You're gonna have no fucking legs left the way you're going."

And Ian didn't understand that, but he liked the affection in Mickey's smile even if it wasn't directed at him. He found himself wanting to smile as well. He never got the chance to ask what they were talking about because the ambulance pulled up and they were all being pushed out of the way so that the paramedics could get to Tegan.

Mickey was allowed to ride in the ambulance with her once it had been established that he was responsible for Tegan and also the look in his eyes practically dared anyone to defy him and tell him he couldn't stay with her. It sort of made Ian want to take the gun off of Mickey that was still tucked into the back of his trousers. But he didn't do anything, just motioned to Carl and said he'd drive them both to the hospital since he knew from the look on Carl's face that he was getting to that hospital with no two ways about it.

Carl just nodded numbly as they stared after the ambulance. Apparently it only kicked in then that his girlfriend had just been shot. Carl didn't know why, but Ian thought maybe he did. He thought maybe he understood and that it had something to do with Iggy's comment to Mickey. He knew why Mickey had been the intended target, but what he didn't know was what the fuck else Mickey had got himself mixed up in. Because it was obviously something.

And Ian was going to find out. Even if it wasn't _technically_ any of his business. He was going to find out.


	13. Chapter 13

Mickey felt like he was going to be sick. Things weren't happening the way that he wished they would, the way he thought they would, but that didn't mean he was at all surprised. Everything just seemed to happen all at once. The moment that Tegan took a bullet for him, things just seemed to start happening, like a chain reaction. It was like that hard started a ball rolling and Mickey couldn't work out how the hell to stop it. He didn't completely even know if he wanted to stop it, he just knew that it freaked him the hell out.

The police took his statement while Tegan was in surgery getting all the bullet fragments out of her shoulder. He told the truth only for the reason that the cop Tony or whatever who'd been there at the time vouched for him that none of it had been Mickey's fault. He'd even been praised on blowing out the wheels of the vehicle.

Mickey thought that had been a pretty damn good shot as well if he was being honest, but of course he just scowled at the compliment and asked if he could leave, because he wanted to be there when Tegan got out of surgery, or at the very least when she woke up.

Carl and Ian were already in Tegan's room by the time that Mickey got there and he tried not to look at either of them beyond acknowledging their presence. He didn't feel comfortable having them there, especially not the redhead, but he also knew he didn't really have all that much of a viable reason for kicking them out.

Lying in the hospital bed, a bulky bandage on her shoulder, Tegan looked more peaceful than he had ever seen her and he knew that was because she wasn't dreaming. He dragged a chair up beside her bed and touched her hand briefly for a moment, considering holding it but then deciding that that wasn't really something he was completely comfortable with. So instead he just sat there, watching her sleep.

Nobody said anything, although he could practically feel himself being weighed down underneath the weight of all of Ian's questions. He felt like he was being bent double by them and matters were only made worse when the doctor walked into the room.

She smiled at him when their eyes met, because it was Dr Rush, the doctor who treated Kara and Mickey hated that she recognised him for no reason whatsoever. "Mr Milkovich, you're actually saving me a phone call," she said and Mickey forced himself not to scowl because he didn't have any reason to. Although he supposed the fact that he was stressed out beyond belief would be a godo excuse.

"Oh?" he asked, toying with the edge of the blanket covering Tegan.

"Yes, I'm sorry about what's happened to Tegan here, but the surgery went well and as soon as she wakes up I don't see much reason to keep her in for any extended length of time," she said, "Which is the first piece of good news I have to deliver to you today actually."

He scrubbed a hand through his hair, feeling older than he actually was all of a sudden. "Good," he muttered, "We could do without any more massive hospital bills."

"No doubt," Dr Rush said laughing, her eyes lighting up in a way that would probably make her really pretty if Mickey had batted for that team, "Now, the other piece of good news is regarding your wife."

Mickey was all too aware of Ian tensing up on the other side of the room at the word wife. He probably thought Mickey was some massive coward or something. But Mickey would be damned if he reacted or gave any sort of shit about what Gallagher thought. He had bigger things to worry about.

"I tried calling you earlier, but for obvious reasons you didn't answer," she continued, motioning to Tegan, "We took your wife out of her induced coma earlier today and I'd fully expect that she wake up within the next few hours, which is why I would suggest that you try and stick around to help keep her calm when she wakes."

Mickey exhaled loudly and almost smiled. He'd been waiting for that news, he thought it was just typical that it came when Tegan had been fucking shot. Kara was going to kill him. "Of course, your wife will still have to remain in the hospital for a while to ensure her lungs keep healing, since the damage done to them by the fire was quite considerable," she explained, which for some reason didn't burst Mickey's bubble at all. He'd known that. He was just glad she was waking up. He was fed up of watching her sleep.

"She'll be pissed when I tell her she can't smoke anymore," he muttered.

"Who can't smoke?"

They all jumped when Tegan spoke and Mickey could feel himself actually smiling when he turned to her, skimming his fingers over her forearm and watching as Carl lurched forwards to grab a hold of Tegan's other hand. He didn't think he could find any reason to disapprove of that relationship anymore, which pissed him off a little for no logical reason.

"Your mum's been taken out of her coma," Mickey said, his voice rough from the stress and from emotions he refused to let show, "She should be waking up in a minute, but because her lungs are fucked, she ain't gonna be able to smoke."

Tegan snorted, "That's going to piss her off."

Which was an understatement.

"How are you feeling?" Dr Rush asked, standing at the foot of Tegan's bed and smiling at her.

"Like I got hit by a fucking truck," she muttered, lifting a hand and touching the bandage on her shoulder. She pulled a face. "And how the fuck am I supposed to make this go with _any_ outfit?"

Mickey flicked her on the cheek, "Your priorities are fucked up."

She flipped him off while still keeping her fingers knitted with Carl's. Mickey didn't know why he noticed that.

At the foot of the bed, Dr Rush smiled at the interaction, obviously thinking it was sweet or some shit. Mickey ignored that fact for his own sanity. "Also, Mr Milkovich," she put in, obviously remembering, "I've scheduled a check-up for you later on in the week because I had an opening and we need to see if it's necessary for you to keep using that cream."

Mickey grimaced.

"It is," Tegan commented, "He bitches without it, like in a majorly whiney way."

That time it was Mickey's turn to flip her off, but she just stuck her tongue out at him. Mickey chewed on his bottom lip as he realised that this conversation was happening with Ian listening all too intently. He wouldn't give a shit, but he wasn't comfortable with people finding out about his scars. He didn't know why. He'd always hated the bullet wound on his leg, but the burns up his legs were far much more dramatic. Mickey hated calling anyone's attention to him and he hated people pitying. Having burnt legs like he did was just a really easy way for both of those things to happen.

It was the reason he was suffering through wearing jeans or slacks in the hot weather they were having instead of wearing shorts like every other sane person in Chicago.

"You fucking try being in my position," he griped at her, refusing to meet anyone's eyes and instead finding the blanket on the bed extremely interesting.

Tegan understood anyway and squeezed his wrist for a second in a way that was strangely comforting, even though he couldn't explain why for the life of him. "No thank you," Tegan said, a little _too_ chirpily.

"Surprise, surprise," Mickey muttered under his breath and rubbed at his bottom lip as he looked Tegan up and down. He was guessing that it was because of all the painkillers they'd obviously shot her up with as to why she didn't look in pain, so he thought that maybe meant she'd be okay to move.

He pulled his shirt over his head, knowing that she wouldn't give a shit about the blood on the front. Across the room he knew that Ian was looking at him oddly, but he didn't give a shit. "Put this on," he said, because there was no way he was letting her walk out of there in nothing but a bikini.

She grimaced at him, but that could have been because she sat up a little more then. She took the shirt from him anyway. "Everyone clear out," he said pointing to the door, "Including you fuck head, I need to talk to you."

Carl looked up at him in surprise, but just nodded. Ian's expression was blank.

"I'll get the papers you need to sign to discharge her," Dr Rush said, smiling at Mickey and he had a horrible feeling she was checking him out. He didn't particularly care all that much if he was being honest, he felt like he was dead on his feet.

Outside the room Ian wandered off to get a drink, knowing better than to try and be a part of the conversation he wanted to have with Carl. Mickey wondered why he was sticking around though, he obviously wasn't comfortable being there. He thought it probably had something to do with the questions that Ian obviously wanted to ask. It was a damn shame he wasn't going to get answers to them. He didn't have anything to do with any of Mickey's business anymore. Although it was something at least that the redhead seemed to remember him. Mickey had been convinced that he wouldn't do.

"What?" Carl asked, folding his arms across his chest and as polite as ever. He almost reminded Mickey of himself, a scowl permanently on his face and more attitude than he knew what to do with. The difference was, Carl was a sociopath and Mickey felt like he was fucking broken. Carl was still whole and complete and Mickey hoped to fuck he stayed that way, because nobody wanted to be where Mickey was right now.

Mickey pulled out his wallet and fished out a picture from the inside flap. He carried it around with him just in case he ever forgot who the fuck he was trying to avoid. "You ever see that man," he said, handing the photo to Carl and then pulling the gun out of the back of his trousers. He couldn't keep it there now he was shirtless and this part of the hospital was pretty fucking deserted, so he wasn't going to get arrested for having it. "You fucking shoot his ass dead."

He handed over the gun and he thought Carl was about to smirk, except Mickey knew his expression was more serious than it had ever been before. "Why?" he asked eventually, his eyes locking on Mickey's and for once Mickey didn't look away. He didn't know what Carl saw, didn't know what the kid was even capable of seeing, but for once Mickey wasn't afraid to let someone see it. He thought maybe it had something to do with the fact that nobody listened to a fucking word Carl said anyway.

"Because he wants Tegan," he explained, cracking his knuckles and then trying to shake some of the tension out of his arms, "And if you give a shit about her, you'll kill the bastard on sight, understand?"

And he knew that Carl cared. He could see it in the guy's eyes. He had definitely been able to see it when Carl was holding Tegan after she'd been shot. Carl cared. That was all Mickey needed to know.

"Who is he?"

"Her Dad," Mickey explained, rubbing the back of his neck and then rolling his shoulders. He felt on edge, but completely strung out all at the same time. He didn't know how to cope with it. "And trust me, he'll do whatever he fucking can to get her, the bastard's the reason Kara's in a coma."

Carl looked down at the gun and back up at Mickey, a small frown puckering the skin between his eyes. "Prove it," he said cautiously, "Prove you're not just having me on or something."

And Mickey wanted to ask why the fuck he would make this up, but he didn't want to know how the hell Carl's thought process worked, so he just rolled up the leg of his slacks and showed Carl the burns marring the skin up to his knee. He knew they were horrible from the look on Carl's face and Mickey felt a twist in his gut, because he hadn't shown anyone those before. But Carl wasn't the type to pity, he just swore low under his breath and looked away.

Mickey let the leg of his trousers drop, relieved when Carl nodded his consent and put the gun into the deep pockets of his swimming trunks. They didn't have time to say anything else though because Ian arrived right at the same moment that Tegan opened the door. She looked fucking stupid in nothing but Mickey's t-shirt and a pair of bikini bottoms, but it was better than nothing.

She was walking slowly, her face knitted into an expression of pain and Mickey reached out and touched her arm gently with his fingertips. He wouldn't hug her, they didn't do that, but he supposed that simple touch wasn't too bad or anything. He knew it had somehow helped when Tegan's expression smoothed out and she offered him a small smirk that in their book passed for a smile.

"Everything always has to fucking happen at once, doesn't it?" she asked as they stepped into Kara's room. The two Gallagher brothers followed them, Tegan sitting on Carl's lap next to the bed and Mickey and Ian bother hovering around a little awkwardly. Mickey didn't know how the hell he was supposed to act with Ian here. He didn't know how he wanted to act. A part of him wanted to make Ian leave, because he had nothing to do with Kara. But at the same time, in some sick sort of way he was actually getting some sort of comfort from having him there.

It felt like his two worlds were colliding, the world in where he'd always been orbiting around Ian like the guy was his fucking sun, when everything had been simple and easy and Mickey's biggest concerns had been if his dad would find out and whether or not he was going to Juvie again. And then there was the world where he was constantly on the run, constantly looking over his shoulder and caring about two people more than he should care, more than he cared about himself.

"That's the way it fucking goes," Mickey muttered back eventually, no doubt when she thought he wasn't going to say anything. In his chest, his heart tripped over itself when Kara's eyelashes fluttered.


	14. Chapter 14

**Sorry about the lack of updates, but I have excuses. I honestly do. I'm not going to bother saying them, but I do have them! I also have a new computer so I am going to do my best to christen it by writing as much as I can. It also helps that it's summer. So this is Spencer's first piece of work, because yes I name my laptops :D makes them feel special. Shut up. . . I'm weird okay, you all already knew that! Enjoy. . . **

The moment that Kara's eyelashes fluttered and her fingers twitched, Mickey lurched across the room towards her. It was like he was suddenly on fire, like he was desperate. He wrapped his fingers around Kara's forearm and bent over her and Ian saw him smile properly when Kara blinked up at him.

She had a tube down her throat and she started choking, reaching up to try and dislodge it, but Mickey caught her hands. "Don't fucking move," he muttered, squeezing her arms in a way that was probably the equivalent of Mickey holding her hand, "Just relax and I'll go get a fucking doctor, see if they can take the tube out."

Kara nodded slowly, barely perceptibly and Mickey lurched away again and moments later they were being shooed out of the room by the same doctor that had known who Mickey was. The conversation with the doctor before had confused Ian, because he kept looking at Mickey and couldn't see anything wrong with him. He looked healthy and normal, bouncing around on the balls of his feet impatiently outside of the door to Kara's room. He seemed a little on edge and whole lot tired, but there wasn't anything physically wrong with him as far as Ian could tell.

He couldn't understand what Mickey would need a check-up for, or why he would need to be using cream for something. But all those thoughts just swung right back round to _what the hell has Mickey done this time?_ And he kept wondering _what fire_ as well. They kept talking about a fire. A fire that had obviously involved Kara because they were talking about damage to her lungs.

Ian was just glad nothing seemed to have happened to Mickey. He knew that was more than a little bit selfish.

If he was being honest, he didn't know why he was sticking around at the hospital. It wasn't really his place, but he didn't want to leave. He told himself it was because he wanted to make sure that Carl got home okay and that he had nowhere else to be, but honestly, it was more that he wascurious. Curious to see whether he could glean any sort of information about what Mickey had been up to.

And curious to see whether or not Mickey was actually married. He didn't understand that. The doctor seemed to completely believe that Mickey and Kara were together and married and Mickey was acting sort of like a concerned husband bouncing around like he was, but it didn't sit right in Ian's head. Maybe that was because he knew that Mickey was gay. Or maybe it was because he didn't want to believe it. He didn't want to believe that Mickey was that far in the closet that he couldn't even see the light anymore.

"What happened?" that was the first question that Kara asked when they walked back into the room. Her voice was raspy from misused and quiet, but then Ian didn't know what it had sounded like before so he supposed he didn't have all that much comparison to do.

"I got shot, it's not a big deal," Tegan replied and Ian saw Mickey tense up and almost look guilty. Like this was all his fault. Like he'd pushed Tegan in front of him.

Kara's eyes drank in the sight of her daughter and she touched her face gently with a shaking hand. "Who?" she asked, "And how long have I been out?"

"Just over a month," Mickey said, "And it was my brother Iggy, the police caught up with him though so that's one less Milkovich to worry about." He looked at Tegan with a weird sort of pain in his eyes, it practically burned. "Tegan took the bullet that was meant for me."

"And are you alright?" Kara asked Tegan, their hands now entwined together.

She nodded.

"Well then stop fucking looking so guilty," Kara growled at Mickey, the effect a little more scary because of her damaged voice, "We'd be fucking dead if it wasn't for you Mick, that doctor told me what you did."

And if Mickey had been the sort of person to blush, Ian thought he would have been.

"It wasn't a big deal," he said, throwing himself down into the chair by Kara's bed, "Just glad we aren't fucking dead." He scratched as his arm and frowned, "Not yet anyway."

"Jesus Christ, Mickey, you're so melodramatic," Kara muttered, but there was affection in her eyes when she smiled at him and Ian could feel himself getting jealous. Because they obviously had some sort of relationship, at the very least it was friendship, but he couldn't stop his mind from racing away with itself and letting him imagine all sorts of scenarios in which Mickey was married to a woman.

Or Mickey was married to anybody at all.

It was only when Tegan settled down on Carl's lap, still holding her mother's hand that Kara realised that there were other people in the room. She stared at Carl like she was assessing him and Ian learnt where the hell Tegan got that look from when he saw it. She didn't look a lot like her mother, but her mannerisms were almost exactly the same.

He doesn't know why, but Kara isn't exactly what he expected. He doesn't even know what he expected.

"And who are these two?" she asked, her voice wheezing a little bit. Her eyes had skirted over Ian and he didn't know whether or not to be insulted by the fact that she obviously didn't think that he was too much of a threat. In comparison to Carl, she hardly even looked at him.

"Carl Gallagher ma'am," Carl said, smiling nervously, which was a weird expression to be on Carl's face. It was ever weirder hearing Carl as he attempted to be polite. Carl had never really attempted to be polite in his life before and it was testament to how he felt about Tegan that he was making an exception then.

Kara studied him for a second and Ian didn't miss the way that her eyes seemed to flick towards Mickey; and he also didn't miss the small, barely noticeable nod that Mickey gave her. And Ian didn't know how he felt about that. He didn't know how he felt about Mickey apparently approving of Carl. Not only because that was _insane_, because as much as Ian loved his brother, even he could acknowledge that he was not the best choice for the person your daughter was dating. And it hurt as well because Mickey had never approved of Ian, but apparently he had no problem approving of Carl.

That hurt in a way that was completely stupid and pointless, but Ian said nothing and just looked back at Kara in time to see the smile break out across her face. And she was beautiful when she smiled like that, breath-taking and Ian couldn't really even blame Mickey for wanting her. If that was what was going on, because honestly Ian didn't even have a clue anymore. He didn't know why he was even still there, he certainly didn't know why Mickey was letting him still be there. It made no sense; and yet it was happening.

"Cool," Kara said, almost nonchalantly, like she didn't care in the slightest. Except Ian could see that she did. "Just treat my girl right, otherwise Mickey here'll hurt you in ways you can't even imagine."

And there was an edge to Mickey's smile when it appeared on his lips, it was something so protective that Ian could feel his breath getting caught in his throat. It was terrifying and dangerous and so completely pained that Ian really wished he knew what they'd been through, because it was killing him now knowing. It was killing him being able to see the hurt hidden in Mickey's eyes and yet not knowing what had caused it.

He shouldn't care. He knew he shouldn't care. But this was _Mickey_. This was the guy who had been his first love, because Kash really didn't count. That had never been love, that had been convenience and full of first times and maybe it had been something close to love. But it hadn't been love, not at all. It never could have been, because Kash was never Ian's. He was never Ian's like Mickey was, even though Mickey would deny it. Although, much more to the point, Ian was never Kash's. He never had a problem sleeping around on him, never had a problem walking away, not like with Mickey.

So he couldn't let go, he couldn't let go of Mickey. He couldn't stop worrying. He didn't think he'd ever be able to. And it was when he realised things like that that he wished he'd only ever known Mickey as the neighbourhood thug, that he'd never met him even, that they'd never been through that disaster of a relationship that wasn't even called a relationship.

But at the same time he wouldn't give that time up for anything. Ian thought that was pathetic.

"That was what you said to that guy in the bar two years ago," Tegan put in, snuggling back into Carl's arms. The relief was obvious on her face, the relief that her mother approved of her relationship. Ian wondered what that felt like, he'd never had that. His relationships had always been too questionable for anyone to approve of ever. And an example was sitting in front of him.

Mickey snorted, the smile fading away as he scratched his forehead with grubby, red-stained fingers. He seemed more relaxed now. "Yeah and didn't that night get fucking colourful," he said and Ian was sure that there was a private joke in there somewhere, but it seemed that between these three there wasn't a single thing that wasn't locked up tight in a box only the three of them had keys to.

"Speaking of which," Kara said; and honestly, Ian couldn't see the connection between the two topics in any way, but he latched onto the words she said next, because they sounded like the most important thing he had ever heard, "Why the hell did that doctor keep calling me Mrs Milkovich?"

Mickey sounded like he was choking on his own saliva and he turned red, actually _blushing_ in a way that Ian wished he had been able to make him do. He scratched the back of his neck and stared at the floor. "Because after what happened he was bound to check the hospitals for you," Mickey replied, not looking at anyone, which Ian was glad about because he didn't need anyone to see the blatant look of relief on his face, "And the paramedics already thought I was your husband anyway, was just easier."

And then Kara actually pouted, which looked strange because she was smirking at the same time. "Damn it, I actually thought for a minute there you'd fallen for my womanly wiles," she said, snapping her fingers and banging her fist down on her thigh, trying her apparent best to look exasperated, "There are my dreams crushed."

Mickey leant back a little more in his chair and met her eyes finally, the colour fading back out of his skin again. "Like that's ever going to fucking happen," he muttered, so low that Ian almost didn't catch it. But he did and he knew what those words meant. They meant that Kara and Tegan knew. That they _knew_.

They knew Mickey was gay, they knew all about that, which maybe explained why they were on edge about the Milkovich brothers being after Mickey. They knew. Ian tried not to let it show how much that surprised him, how glad it made him. Because this was a step. A baby step admittedly, but it was still a step. Mickey had told someone, he had admitted it to someone. That was progress.

Ian just had to remind himself not to get too carried away with that thought. Because Mickey admitting he was gay to two people didn't mean that Mickey felt anything for Ian. That he ever had. But it was still progress; and progress was good.


	15. Chapter 15

It was more than a little bit strange altering his routine now that Kara was awake. Not that he minded in the slightest, but it did drag up the question of whether or not they were going to leave again once she was discharged. He thought the chances of them going were slim if only for the reason that Carl and Tegan were closer than ever and as stupid as it was, it would probably kill Mickey inside if he had to separate them.

He told himself that his desire to maybe stick around in Chicago had absolutely nothing to do with any other Gallagher other than Carl and even then, he told himself that it was only for Tegan. Of course, Mickey also sort of knew that he was lying to himself. He felt like an idiot because now that he'd seen Ian, spoken to him even though he hadn't really spoken to him at all, he couldn't get him out of his head.

Not even after Tegan had been shot and Kara had woken up. All of his thoughts somehow managed to find their way back to Ian _fucking_ Gallagher. It was stupid. In fact, it was beyond stupid. It was pathetic. And it didn't help that Ian kept popping up in the most random of places. It also didn't help that Gallagher had decided he was going to frequent the Alibi a lot more than he ever would have normally done. Mickey didn't know his reasons, didn't want to let himself think that it had anything to do with Mickey since it most likely didn't. He wondered if maybe war had taken some sort of toll on Ian or something.

He didn't have the courage to ask.

They didn't talk during those times when they'd both be in the same place. If Ian noticed that he kept seeing Mickey around, then he didn't say anything about it. Neither of them commented at all. Except Mickey couldn't help but think that it was almost like they were magnets, constantly being pulled towards each other. He couldn't help but wonder if he was the only one who wasn't trying to pull away all that hard. He'd worked out that Gallagher hadn't forgotten about him, but that didn't really mean anything. Well, okay, no, it meant something. But it didn't mean what Mickey wanted it to. It didn't mean Ian gave a shit, because when Gallagher gave a shit about something, he fucking voiced his opinion. And he hadn't said anything to Mickey, so obviously, he didn't care enough to.

And yet, Mickey knew he wasn't imagining the glances that Ian slid his way when he thought the ex-con wasn't liable to notice.

A part of Mickey felt like a coward for not confronting Ian about the past, about the present, about anything. He felt like a coward for not acknowledging Ian at all, even though he wanted to. The difference was, he knew that it was for the best. He had bigger things to worry about than Ian Gallagher, than his old love life, than any love life at all. He had the girls to protect and bills to pay and it was all so stupidly domestic that it made his teeth ache.

"So Ian's the one you used to fuck isn't he?" Tegan asked when it was just them in their apartment. Mickey had already downed a few beers and was halfway through smoking a joint, which was probably the only reason she'd had the courage to ask him.

He scowled, "And why the fuck would you think that?"

Tegan snorted and rolled her eyes. "Jesus, I'm not stupid," she replied, stretching out where she lay on the couch and sticking her feet into his lap, "You always act weird around him and it's pretty easy to put the pieces together, you said he went off and joined the army and Ian just came back from a tour with the army, so really, if you think about it, it's pretty simple."

She twirled a piece of her hair around her finger. "That and if he wasn't the one you used to fuck, you'd actually do something other than glance at him sideways whenever he'd nearby," she said and she had that expression on her face that implied that she knew everything that there was to know. It was annoying, especially since right at that moment, it was accurate.

"He's a nice guy," she continued when Mickey didn't say anything, not that she probably expected him to. She knew him well enough to know when he was going to open his mouth and when he was going to keep it the fuck shut. "You could definitely do worse."

Mickey snorted, he couldn't help it, "Yeah and he could definitely do better."

He flinched when she smacked him on the arm, the reasoning behind the hit clear by the look in her eyes. Not that he actually met her eyes, but he still saw it anyway. "You're acting like there's even a fucking chance anyway," he replied, blaming the alcohol on the fact that he couldn't seem to _not_ shout the words, "We're done, Gallagher and I are done, we were done a long fucking time ago."

Tegan just rolled her eyes again and shrugged ever so slightly. "You're an idiot," she said in a matter-of-fact sort of way.

Mickey didn't say a word, because maybe he was.

Despite that conversation with Tegan though, nothing changed. He still avoided Gallagher when he could, still didn't speak to him and Ian didn't say anything to him either. It was the way it should be, simple, easy and without any fucking complications. _So why did it hurt?_ Mickey didn't want to think about the answer to that question, he really didn't.

It was stupid, completely stupid, but Mickey thought that he felt like a robot. He developed a new routine pretty quickly, incorporating Kara in more now that she was awake. It was a challenge to stop her from smoking and he could just see it getting harder when she actually got out of the hospital. He'd been right when he'd said that she hadn't taken that news well. She'd actually cried, which was stupid. And she'd punched him when he pointed out that maybe they'd save money on beer now that she had no excuse to spit it out. She'd actually hit him hard enough that he bruised.

And yet, the idea of bruises only made him think of Gallagher, which was pathetic. He couldn't stop himself from remembering when Ian had made a passing comment saying that Mickey bruised easily. It was a statement that Mickey had thought was seriously fucking stupid, but he'd stood there after Ian had left and found every single one of the bruises on his pale body that the redhead had inflicted, the handprints on his hips, the hickeys on his spine, the bite marks on his neck. There'd been bruises on his thighs, on his arms where Ian had gripped them.

Mickey had thought after that that maybe he did bruise easily, but then he'd taken a punch to the jaw from one of his brothers and hadn't bruised at all. He thought that said something about Gallagher. He had been the only one who'd ever been able to mark Mickey. He'd been the only one to be able to mark him both visibly and inside. It was stupid, but that didn't stop it being true.

More than anything though, it was confusing.

Of course, now though, Mickey was marked on the outside even worse. It wasn't just little bruises he could trace back to a good fuck. No, it was horrible burns up his legs, twisting around his calves and marring him forever. He'd had his check-up and been told to keep using the cream. Like he would have stopped anyway. Apparently, they were improving, but Mickey didn't see it. They were still ugly. He was still ugly, he always had been. He could remember his mum telling him that Mickey was too twisted and dark on the inside. He remembered her saying that even if he was good looking, he was always going to be ugly, because there was no light inside of him, nothing to shine out. His mother had hated him, so Mickey had hated her. He blamed her for the fact he was fucked up. Her and Terry. It was both of their faults.

The day of the check-up, Mickey had finally given in and shown Kara the burns on his legs. He'd sat with his feet up on the bed and hadn't stopped her when she'd rolled up his trouser legs. He hadn't stopped her when she'd run her fingers over the rough, ruined skin. He'd only moved when she'd started to cry, wrapping his arms around her in a way that was far too intimate for them. They didn't do that sort of thing, but he didn't know what else to do. He didn't know how else to stop the tears, so he just hugged her.

She didn't say anything and neither did he. And later on, he pretended not to hear her murmured, "I'm sorry." He didn't need her apologies. It wasn't her fault. It had been his choice to go in there, his choice to walk through the fire. None of the blame was on her. Besides, he figured it had just been premature karma for Tegan having gotten shot because of him.

Just that thought alone made him want to gut his brother. The fact the guy was headed to jail did help a little though. It was one less person to worry about.

When Mickey woke up, later on in the morning than usual since it was his day off, he didn't even register the voices at first. He just walked straight out of his room and into the kitchen to grab some painkillers since he'd drunk himself pretty much into a stupor that night. He didn't even have an explanation why other than stress, but Tegan didn't say anything. He thought she understood something that he didn't, but he didn't particularly want to dwell on it.

It was only when he dropped down on the couch with a coffee in hand that he realised several thing. The first being that Carl was there. The second being that Mickey was in nothing but his boxers and the burns crawling up his legs were visible in all their glory. There was no hiding them and even though Carl was staring, he wasn't reducing himself to looking so weak that he'd bolt out of the room. Even if he wanted to.

"What happened?" Carl asked, completely unashamedly.

Mickey could feel a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth when Tegan punched her boyfriend in the arm. "I don't know what you're talking about," Mickey replied gruffly, not comfortable in any way, but he didn't think it was all that cowardly just to not talk about it. Tegan would probably fill the guy in later anyway. If he was being honest, he was surprised that she hadn't done so already.

"The burns," Carl said bluntly, because he was an idiot and apparently terrible at catching a hint.

Tegan hit him again, "Dude, shut the fuck up."

"I got burnt," Mickey said sarcastically, not liking the expression on Tegan's face because he didn't understand it and if he didn't understand it, he couldn't get rid of it. He caught the tub of cream that Tegan tossed to him from the coffee table and figured since they were apparently all fixating on his legs, he might as well put the cream on now rather than in his room.

He had tubs of the stuff lying around all over the apartment for no reason other than he didn't like having to go hunting too far for them when his legs started to get uncomfortable. And they always were in the morning, something about having spent so long in a hot bed making them itch and his skin crawl.

"Yeah, but how?" Carl asked, "You said it had something do to with Tegan's Dad?"

"Mickey saved my mum's life," Tegan said in a low voice, since she'd obviously worked out that Carl wasn't going to drop the subject and Mickey wasn't going to say another word. He was staring at his legs so hard that she probably thought he was about to have a fit or something. He'd never applied the cream so carefully in his life, but he couldn't bring himself to look at Carl, to see the disgust in the kid's eyes. Mickey was already plenty disgusted himself. "My Dad set fire to our motel room and Mickey ran back in to get her out."

"Oh," Carl said, like he hadn't been expecting that, like it surprised him to no end that Mickey had actually been capable of doing some good. He found it impossible to not be just the littlest bit insulted at that.


	16. Chapter 16

**Sorry it's been a while for this one, but hopefully maybe it was worth the wait. . . I dunno. . . either way enjoy. . . **

Mandy was the next one to find out about the scars and that was because she had no concept of privacy at all. She burst into his room with a grin on her face that fell off so quickly it was like it had never even been there in the first place. She just stared at him. Stared as he was sitting there with the bottoms of his trousers rolled up so that he could rub cream into his calves. They both froze and just stared at each other, Mandy's eyes bugging out of her head and Mickey's heart pounding so hard it was threatening to burst right out of his fucking chest.

"Well shut your fucking mouth," he snapped at her eventually and wished he hadn't, because he was expecting her to made a snide comment back at him or something. He wasn't prepared for the way the tears spilled over and ran down her cheeks, smudging her make-up in a way that she fucking deserved if she was going to wear that much of it.

And then she was next to him on the bed, pressing against his side and still staring with wide eyes at the ruined skin of his legs. "What did you do?" he'd never heard his sister sound so small before. So heartbroken. It was pitiful and it wasn't something he knew how to deal with, but he couldn't run away from it. If he ran, Mandy would talk, she'd spread the word that Mickey was fucking ugly on the outside now too.

Or at least even more so.

And so Mickey explained, in a dead voice and not looking at his sister once. He explained. He just kept rubbing the cream into the burns, feeling the tight skin loosen up, like a coil that had suddenly been released. It felt good, but he hated it at the same time. He hated that he had to do this just to feel normal. He hated that he needed this cream more than he needed anything else.

The one time that he risked a glance sideways at Mandy, she was staring at him like she was trying to work out whether or not he was lying. He looked away quickly and didn't look again. He didn't even know why he was so ashamed to have to tell the story. Both Kara and Tegan had called him an idiot for hating the burns, but to him, being burnt in the first place was evidence that he hadn't tried hard enough to protect them. He'd said he'd protect them and he hadn't done. He had failed. Kara had been in a coma and Tegan had a fucking bullet wound in her shoulder for fuck's sake.

He felt like every semblance, every ounce of control that he had ever had was slipping away from him. And the thing Mickey hated more than anything was to feel out of control. It was why he'd always turned tail and run when things happened with Ian. It was why he'd always shied away from any form of commitment or responsibility. Because now, now he was trapped. Now he had no choice but to battle on through and Mickey didn't know how to do that.

He didn't plan on ever giving up, not till someone put a fucking bullet in his skull, but he still didn't like it. Not at all.

"Mickey?" she asked eventually, after the silence had stretched out between them, weighing them both down, pressing them down into the ground.

He finally made himself look at her and he hated the sight of the black lines smudged down her cheeks. He hated them more than he hated a lot of things, because Mickey had never liked seeing his baby sister cry.

"Mick, why did you leave?" she asked, her voice quiet, but seeming loud in the cramped room, "Why did Dad want to kill you?"

He wanted to look away, but he couldn't. He couldn't tear his eyes away from hers. "You know why," he told her, because he knew she did. Or at least he was pretty positive that she did. Mandy hadn't been there when he'd told his father, when he'd screamed his own death sentence out. No, she'd only been there to see him flee, to see him run. But he would have thought she'd been told. Judging by the look on her face and the shake of her head, he was wrong.

"Don't make me say it," he was practically begging, because he didn't know how to say those words out loud. He'd only just managed to tell Kara and even then it had been with a foul taste in his mouth. He wasn't ashamed of it, but he didn't like saying it. It still sounded like a condemnation to his own ears to hear the words. Something Terry had deeply engrained into his thoughts since he was a child.

He could tell how concerned Mandy was by the way her eyes widened and the tears stopped. She knew Mickey didn't ever beg for anything. He never had done. Not even when their Dad had had his arm twisted up behind his back and was threatening him, trying to force him to beg or apologise. Mickey had never cracked, but now here he was, broken and ruined beyond recognition with an edge to his voice that he'd never wanted to hear.

_The house had always been stifling, but right then it felt like it was pressing in on him from every side. It felt like it was slowly choking the life out of him. He felt sick and twisted up inside. He felt like he was burning from the inside out. Like something was trying to claw its way out of him and reach the light. Except there was no light in this house. There had never been. It was all shadows and darkness, mixed up and churning in a fog of drugs and booze and abuse. The Milkovich house was like another world. It was all backwards and wrong. It was violent and tainted and Mickey could feel his family name practically branded on his skin. _

_It made him squirm, made him die inside every time everyone called him by his last name. "Milkovich!" It meant he was one of many. It meant he was tarred with the same brush as all of the others. He was "Milkovich" to the outside world and "boy" to his father. He was the same, just another one doomed to fail. Except he wasn't. He refused to be. He was "Mickey", the name laughed out from a child's lips, Mandy's eyes lighting up as she grabbed at his hair with small fists, smiling and happy and unknowingly setting him free a little bit inside. He wasn't "Milkovich" or "son", he was Mickey. _

_And then he was "Mick" breathed out in the middle of sex, rough and raw, the emotion clogged up in between the letters. He was "Mick" said with a smile and a laugh and a look in Ian's eyes that made Mickey twist up inside in a way that he didn't understand, but also in a way he didn't hate. He was "Mick" when a thumb swiped over the scar on his thigh, when Ian thought he was asleep, when he could whisper "Mick" reverently, like it was a prayer. And Mickey didn't stop him, didn't open his eyes. He just clung to that small glimmer of light, that new name, that new brand, the one he wanted to wear proudly but didn't know how to make it show. _

_Until he became "Milkovich" again. Passing Ian in the street and slamming his shoulder hard into the redhead's, barging past because he couldn't look. He couldn't see Ian, not standing next to some guy, not smiling at someone else, branding someone else with a new name and a careful touch. "Who's that?" the guy had looked over his shoulder at Mickey and Mickey had just kept on walking away. _

"_That's just Milkovich," Ian had replied and there was that. He wasn't "Mickey" he wasn't "Mick", he was nothing again. He was one of the same, tarred with the same brush all because of a name. _

_Just like that it was too much, far too much. Just like that the walls were closing in on him, pressing against him and making him choke. Making him gasp for air. So he tore free. He tore free with a fist to his father's face and his backpack stuffed with the only things he ever would want to take. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" his father spat blood out onto the floor as he rose back up to look at his son, to look at Mickey. Because this time he was seeing Mickey, he was seeing Mick, he wasn't going to be one of the same anymore. _

_He refused. _

_He laughed, his head tipped back and the sound harsh. "Well there's the thing," he sneered out, his muscles bunching as he prepared to bolt, to get out and to not come back. He wouldn't come back, he was sure. "Nothing's fucking wrong with me, you just made me think there was."_

_Terry was slow on the uptake, he didn't understand, but then he didn't need to in order to want to beat the shit out of his youngest son. He was going to anyway, Mickey knew that. But this time Mickey wanted him to know. He didn't care if it was the last thing he ever said, but he wasn't going to die as "Milkovich" or as "boy" and he wasn't going to live as that any longer either. _

"_I may be a fucking queer, but you're the one that's fucked up," Mickey snarled out, straightening up a little more because there was the thing. He wasn't even scared. His father was a terrifying person, but right then, Mickey wasn't scared. He was flying off of pain and anger and years of self-hate. He was running off of need and for once, he was doing something for him. Pure and simple. For him. _

"_Get the fuck out of my house," Terry was red-faced and furious, but he was shocked as well and Mickey knew he had until that shock wore off, "No son of mine is going to be a fucking faggot."_

_And Mickey laughed again, never once taking his eyes off of Terry, because right there – right there! – was the point. "Gladly," he sounded too calm even to his own ears, sounded too calm even as he got ready to bolt, "Because I ain't your fucking son."_

_The he was running, crashing past Mandy and for a second he thought he saw a flash of red, thought he saw Ian next to her, but Mickey didn't look back. He just run. He didn't turn back even when he heard the sounds of Terry following him, of Mandy screaming. He just got the fuck out of Chicago. He just ran until he could feel the tension that was wound tight around his chest, choking him, killing him slowly release. He didn't stop running until he found "Mickey" in a friend's smile. He didn't stop running until he found "Mick" in a little girl's sleepy mumble, her arms winding around his neck and the fear fading out of her eyes. _

_And then he ran some more._

"I'm gay," he told Mandy with his teeth gritted together and his expression completely serious, "That's why, because I'm gay."

She didn't expect it, obviously, but she didn't react like he thought she would. She just rolled her eyes at his seriousness, punched him hard on the arm and then lying back to rest on her elbows as she said, "Yeah well Mickey, you're still my favourite." And there it was, that same smile and light in her eyes as when she'd said it the first time.

"Mickey" not "Milkovich". He was different not the same.

He just snorted and bumped her with his shoulder, setting aside the tub of cream. He didn't even flinch when she reached out to trail her fingers down the marred flesh, like she was checking it was really there and not just a figment of her imagination. "I've seen worse," she muttered as she stared up at the ceiling, her hand withdrawing from his skin and just like that, the tension wrapped around him started to unwind again.

"The fuck you doing here anyway?" he asked her so that he didn't have to try and think of words to say to that.

Mandy just shrugged, the picture of relaxation as she laid back completely and splayed her hands flat against her belly. "Oh yeah," she said, not looking at him, "I'm pregnant."


	17. Chapter 17

Ian was pleased, he honestly was. He was happy for them, even if it did make him jealous that not only was he not going to be around for the birth, but it seemed like everyone else's life was falling into place except his. He just felt like that one puzzle piece that didn't quite fit.

Lip was pleased about the baby, of course he was, but Ian could understand why he was a little bit withdrawn about it, a little bit hesitant. After the whole incident with Karen, anyone would be. Lip just chose to voice his concerns in the wrong place at the wrong time.

They were in the Alibi Room, hiding from the heat and cradling a pint each before they had to head over to their house for the party that Fiona was throwing in honour of the incoming baby. "I mean, you get what I'm saying right, because I want to be more excited, but how do I know for sure that it'd mine," Lip said, scowling down at the bar top.

Ian didn't even have time to answer, because suddenly Mickey was there and wrenching Lip out of his seat. He slammed him into the bar, forcing Lip to arch in a way that was definitely not comfortable as Mickey got up in his face, teeth bared and eyes furious.

"You shut your fucking mouth about my sister," he'd already hit Lip once, obviously when he'd dragged him out of his seat. Ian had missed that, but he knew Mickey had by the trickle of blood coming from the corner of Lip's mouth. "The baby's fucking yours because for some reason Mandy's dumb enough to actually fall in love with one of you Gallaghers, so shut your fucking mouth and smile, or I'll rearrange your face."

And he was serious. Mickey wouldn't hesitate to hit Lip because if there was one thing that had always been guaranteed to get Mickey riled up, then it was people saying shit about Mandy. Lip held his hands up in defeat, obviously believing Mickey because if Mandy had taken the time to express her feelings to Mickey, she definitely meant them. But then, Ian could have told him well enough that the baby was definitely his. Mandy was crazy about Lip, more so than she'd ever been about anybody. Lip was just being an insecure asshole.

He was just rising out of his seat to pull Mickey back when fingers touched the back of Mickey's shirt. "Hey dickhead, cool it and buy me a pint already will you?"

His eyes widened at the sight of Kara standing there. She didn't look completely healthy, but there was a confidence that just seemed to radiate out of her. Mickey was pulling back instantly, tipping his head to the side and cracking his neck.

"You're not allowed to drink yet remember," he pointed out, backing away from Lip and scratching his stomach as he looked at Kara, "And don't you even fucking think about it." He was talking to Tegan that time where she was leaning up against the bar watching the whole thing with a smirk on her face.

Tegan reminded him a lot of Mickey if Ian was being completely honest, except Mickey still scared him more. A point that was proven by the fact that Tegan's only response was to flip Mickey off. It had been almost two months since Tegan was shot and Kara had woken up and just from looking at her you never could have guessed that she'd been through something like that. Ian had seen her around at their house with Carl and she was wearing just as little clothing as she had been before the shooting, the hot weather apparently determined to hold out for as long as possible.

The only evidence there was for the whole thing was the patch of marred skin on her shoulder.

He hadn't seen Kara since she'd woken up, because really he'd had zero reason to go back to the hospital. It wasn't like he could just pop his head in and say, "Hi I used to fuck the guy they all think is your husband, how do you take your coffee?" He was surprised she'd been in the hospital so long, but then he'd heard from Carl somehow – he had no idea how that conversation had started – that she'd had some setbacks with her lungs now that she was off the respirator. He was pretty sure that this was the first time that she'd been out in public since she'd been discharged from the hospital.

She kept jumping ever so slightly at loud sounds and stuck close to Mickey, her eyes flickering towards the door whenever someone walked in.

They didn't speak to each other for the rest of the time that they were at the bar, but Ian saw the three of them at their house the next day. Mickey stood across the room leaning against a wall, his eyes narrowing whenever Lip looked his way. The rest of the time though, Mickey didn't look away from Tegan or Kara. He had to pluck a cigarette out of Kara's fingers twice before she got the message and stopped trying to sneak a smoke.

It was a party that wasn't much of a party considering that Mandy couldn't drink and she'd roped Lip into not drinking so that she wouldn't be the only one, Tegan had already begged off upstairs with Carl much to Mickey's disgust and obvious annoyance and the whole thing was more than a little bit awkward.

"So are we ever going to actually have a proper conversation?" Ian asked several beers later when it seemed like everyone seemed to have paired off and having Mickey being just across the room from him was making him feel like a nervous wreck for no reason at all. It was ridiculous.

Mickey stared at him for a minute, like he was trying to work out whether or not he wanted to answer that, whether or not he even wanted to be there. Ian thought the chances were he didn't want to be, which was why he was surprised when Mickey actually spoke.

"What the fuck do we have to talk about?" he asked, his voice gruff and low and Ian had a bit of a hard time pretending that that voice did absolutely nothing for him. Because it was a lie, Mickey's voice did _everything_ to him.

Feeling ballsy, he took the cigarette out of Mickey's hand and took a long drag before handing it back. He was actually surprised that Mickey had let him, but then Mickey look shattered. He said so.

"Yeah well, Kara kicks in her sleep," he muttered, scratching the back of his neck.

Ian frowned and the question must have been pretty obvious on his face because Mickey didn't even wait for him to say anything. "It's a two bedroomed apartment, Gallagher and Tegan's a fucking teenager, she needs her own room," he growled out through his teeth, but there wasn't any real venom behind it.

It seemed like Mickey was just too tired to really conjure up any real emotion.

"So you still working breaking kneecaps?" he asked as soon as he felt the need to fill the silence that stretched out between them; which he would admit was pretty quickly.

Mickey glanced at him through his lashes and looked away the moment Ian unconsciously licked his lips. "Yeah," he muttered eventually, "It pays the bills and we've got a shitload of them." He pulled a face which clearly said that he didn't like thinking about that.

"Hospital?" Ian asked.

"Yeah."

Ian was just thinking of another topic when Mickey spoke again, because for some reason he was apparently deciding to be more chatty than he ever had been before. Ian wondered if maybe it was because he thought that if he had to talk to Ian, he might as well actually _talk_. Normally though, things like that didn't make sense to Mickey.

"You going back to the army?"

Ian knew the surprise registered on his face when he looked back at Mickey. Their eyes met for just a second before Mickey decided the carpet was interesting. "Yeah," Ian replied and he didn't know why that sounded like a confession, because it wasn't supposed to be. It was just a fact. "I'm pissed I'm not going to be here for the birth you know, but I'm thinking it'll be my last tour."

Mickey's nod was barely perceptible. "The army not what you thought it was going to be then?" he asked, even though it didn't sound like much of a question. It was more like that had been what Mickey had been suspecting all along.

He just shrugged. He didn't have an answer to that. "Well is breaking legs what you really want to be doing for the rest of your life?" he asked, raising an eyebrow and not at all surprised when Mickey scowled at him.

"Fuck off," he muttered, "We both know it's not a question of what I want to do, it's about what's fucking available."

"You put yourself down too much," Ian commented before he could stop himself, looking away when he realised that Kara was watching them from across the room. Mickey hadn't noticed that yet.

The scowl on Mickey's face intensified, but when their eyes met for a second, Ian could have sworn that there was something akin to a happy emotion in Mickey's eyes. Or at least satisfaction. _Something_. It wasn't negative, that was all Ian knew for sure. It kind of threw him for a loop.

"What the fuck ever," Mickey muttered, taking a swig of beer and then crumpling the can. He wiped at the moisture on his bottom lip with a finger and Ian swallowed visibly. He couldn't help it. "Try not to fucking die over there."

And then he was walking away, not even realising that that was the second time that he had said those words. And Ian knew better than anyone that Mickey didn't care to repeat himself. If he ever did, it was because he meant it. He kept those words running through his brain like they were on a loop, even as he got on the bus to take him back to his army base. He kept repeating it to himself because he thought maybe that meant in some fucked up way, Mickey maybe did care.

Or at least he had. Maybe.


	18. Chapter 18

Mickey only spent the day with Carl because the kid wanted to see what it was like breaking knees for a living. The guy was fucked up in the head, Mickey didn't think it needed much more explanation than that as to the reasoning behind why the hell Carl would want to come with him. But Mickey obliged because Tegan stared at him with wide eyes and _fucking pleaded_. What Mickey didn't expect was that the kid would actually be alright to hang around.

Once you got past the fact that he was more than a little bit unhinged that was.

The smirk fell off of Mickey's face as soon as they got near the apartment. The door was hanging off its hinges and Mickey felt like he was going to be sick at the possibilities of what he could find inside, but he never thought he'd moved so fast in his entire life. Not even when fire had been licking at his heels.

Inside everything was upturned and essentially ruined. There was a man slumped against the wall, Mickey didn't know him, but he recognised the knife embedded in the side of his neck. There was another knife in the doorframe and a row of bullet holes in the plaster of another wall. The sight of the dead man calmed him as much as it made him feel worse.

"Tegan!" he felt like his feet were made of lead as he walked further into the apartment, dread setting into his bones, "Kara!"

He heard the moan that was supposed to be his name coming from the bedroom and after taking just one more step he could see through the door enough to see Kara's feet. He found her sitting with her back against the foot of the bed, her hands around her middle and could safely say he had never seen her looking so pale before. He also couldn't ever remember feeling quite so powerless as when she met his eyes, hers red rimmed and defeated.

More than anything she looked tired.

Mickey wasn't the smartest guy in the world, but he knew enough to know that the amount of blood soaked into the carpet and trickling slowly through Kara's fingers wasn't good. And Kara knew that too, he could see it in her eyes and Mickey wasn't the sort to give comfort, but he would have willingly given her anything she asked for right then.

"He's got her," she said, her voice weak and strained, but she sounded determined to hang on for a little bit longer. The air rattled through her already damaged lungs when she breathed and she offered him a weak smile that didn't do anything to make him feel better at all.

Mickey nodded numbly, crouching down beside her and then crashing down onto his knees a few seconds later. He didn't even care that he could feel the blood soaking into his jeans. He didn't care about anything else but Kara in that moment and he didn't think anyone could really have begrudged him of that.

"Don't leave me?" Kara asked. She didn't bed, but it wasn't quite far off sounding like she was. Mickey hated seeing her like that. He hated that she'd been reduced to that. He hated that they both knew so obviously that Kara wasn't going to last much longer.

"I won't," he promised, because this was the only thing he could give her and Mickey forgot how to be a dickhead then. He sat behind her, his hands pressed over hers on her stomach and her head lolling back against his shoulder. It wasn't comfortable what with the bedframe digging into the base of his spine and one of his legs twisted up at an awkward angle to help support Kara, but he didn't even feel it.

Kara coughed and spat out some blood, which made him cringe and smile all at the same time. It reminded him too much of the first time he'd had a conversation with her, spitting out beer to get rid of the taste of weed from her mouth. "It was that guy Ian, wasn't it?" she asked randomly. The words sounded ragged, like they were being torn out of her throat. Mickey had to close his eyes. "The one you're still running from?"

He took his hands off hers and opened his eyes, fishing around with some difficulty in his jeans pocket. He pulled out the slightly bent joint and lit it up, only taking a small drag before handing it to Kara and pressing his hands back onto her stomach. The blood flow wasn't much anymore, but then he supposed she didn't have that much blood left in her. "If you're going to start trying to be wise," he told her, his voice only cracking slightly, "You might as well be fucking high."

And now that she was dying anyway, it didn't matter that she wasn't allowed to smoke. Of course, h didn't say that, but they both heard it anyway. He might as well have screamed it for how well they both heard it.

"So is it him?" she asked and Mickey could feel her smile even though he couldn't see it. He didn't particularly want to if he was being honest, because the Kara in his head didn't smile. She scowled and she cursed and she rolled her eyes.

"Yeah," he admitted begrudgingly, watching the smoke rise up into the air towards the ceiling.

She shifted a little in front of him, no doubt trying to find a position that didn't hurt too much. Mickey closed his eyes again for a minute and grunted when she elbowed him in the nuts. She huffed out her apology on a weak, smoky breath.

"You know everyone has to stop running eventually, right?" she asked and Mickey knew she wouldn't be saying this if she wasn't dying. If it wasn't the only opportunity she had to ever tell him. That was the only reason he listened. "I wasted too much time running."

"You didn't have a choice."

He hated the resigned edge to her voice more than he'd ever hated anything in his life.

Kara laughed almost bitterly, except the sound was more of a stunted wheeze. "Maybe," she admitted and flicked away the end of the joint, her head falling back against his shoulder again as she stared up at the ceiling. Mickey knew she wanted to spit, but she didn't. He thought maybe like him, her mouth was too dry. Or maybe she just wanted to die with something other than the taste of blood in her mouth.

"But you don't have anything to run from anymore," she said, the words coming out forced, like she was trying to squeeze them past a blockage in her throat. Mickey felt sick. "You're Dad's dead remember, so don't be a twat and let him win by not even being gay at all."

For very little reason at all, Mickey felt his mouth twist into a grimace.

Kara didn't wait for his answer. She probably knew there wasn't going to be one and she didn't have time to just wait around in silence. Not anymore. Mickey felt like maybe they'd wasted too much time just sitting in the quiet, but then neither of them were much for pointless words.

"I need you to look after Tegan for me," she said and Mickey could feel her getting colder, weaker. Or maybe that was just his imagination. He prayed it was, even if he knew she didn't have long left. "And make sure she knows I love her."

Mickey pressed his face into the side of Kara's hair. "She already does," he said with absolute certainty, because it was true. He didn't need to say he'd look after Tegan, they both knew already that he would. He was going to get her back and he was going to guard her against the world.

"And I need you to do me one more favour," Kara said, her fingers sliding through his and squeezing weakly.

"Anything," he whispered with his face pressed close to her ear and his lungs filled with the scent of her shitty shampoo. He meant that. He meant that more than he could ever express. He'd do anything.

He had a feeling that Kara was smiling, but he was too afraid to look. Too afraid to move.

"Kill the bastard for me," Kara said, her voice no louder than a whisper. The words sounded like nothing more than a breath, but they echoed around him. They filled his ears and reverberated about inside of his soul. They meant everything, those words.

"I will," he promised just in time. He'd only just spoken the words, his voice a hoarse croak when he felt Kara's fingers spasm in his before lying still. And Mickey didn't cry. He wanted to, but he knew she would have kicked his ass if he did, so Mickey just bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to ground himself.

He only sat still for another minute or so before he laid Kara out on her side of their bed, her hands folded over the wound on her stomach, hiding it. He touched the tattoo on her wrist for no reason at all, but he was glad that he did because otherwise he never would have noticed the thing in Kara's hand. It was a packet of matches, crumpled and blood stained, but nevertheless the writing on the front was clearly visible. It was the sort of thing that was always in a motel bathroom along with the tiny shampoo bottles and soap.

Mickey breathed out a laugh and caught Carl's eye where he hovered in the doorway. Mickey had forgotten he was there, but then he didn't think anyone could blame him for that really. "I know where Tegan is," Mickey said, grinning because if he didn't he knew he was going to crack. It wasn't a pleasant grin though. It was all twisted by sadness and pain, but most of all by anger.

"How?" Carl asked, looking confused but pleased.

"Because Kara's a fucking sneaky bitch," Mickey said, holding up the matches, "And she's a damn good pickpocket too."

He touched Kara's face as he spoke and found that it hurt how relaxed she looked. She could have been asleep if Kara had ever even once looked that peaceful while sleeping.

"Mickey, I. . ." Carl trailed off, grimacing. He was no better with words than Mickey was and he definitely didn't find offering comfort any easier. But Mickey was oddly touched that he had even tried.

He nodded numbly, shutting his eyes for a second and steeling himself. When he opened them again, he knew his eyes just like his expression were hard. "Let's go," he muttered, shutting the bedroom door quietly behind him, leaving Kara to her peace.


	19. Chapter 19

**Okay, so I don't know how well it turned out, but here you go. . . **

Somewhere in between stealing a car and pulling up in front of the dingy motel that's name he was pretty sure was engrained into his memory forever, Mickey was almost positive that he'd forgotten how to breathe. He kept sucking in huge lungful's of air sure, but it wasn't providing him with any relief. He felt like his own skin was too tight, but then he supposed that much had been partly because of the blood smeared across his skin like war paint. He looked like something out of a horror movie, sweat and blood striped across his face where he'd scratched at his cheeks and rubbed at his eyes. He was about eight per cent sure that he had some on his lips as well, but he wasn't exactly in a state of mind to be able to tell which way was up, so his thoughts and predictions weren't the most reliable.

Blood had soaked into his jeans and shirt in huge patches of drying red. He could feel it cracking against his skin, the material crunching when he shifted. It was turning brown as it dried and a part of Mickey wasn't to attribute the fading colour to how the colour seemed to have drained out of Mickey's life with Kara's death. Except that was stupid, wasn't it? Colour couldn't leave the world, that was a really gay thought.

Except, actually, Mickey thought that he'd probably been living in black and white for a long time now. Maybe for always. The only colour he could ever think of was red. Red painted on his mother's smile when she'd hugged him for the last time. Red blotches on Mandy's cheeks when she cried. Red splattered across his shirt when he'd had that nosebleed after his dad backhanded him across the room. Red for the busted lip he'd given the first kid to ever try and mess with him. Red for his favourite flavour of Jell-O.

Red for Ian Gallagher.

Red for pain and red for blood.

Mickey wasn't sure whether or not he hated the colour and that right there was something that confused the shit out of him. And Mickey didn't like being confused; so he did what he always resorted to and just didn't think about it.

For some reason Carl was driving and Mickey didn't even know if the kid had his license, but he was past caring. Just so long as they didn't get pulled over, because that would be bad news given what Mickey looked like. Neither of them were talking. Carl was staring straight ahead, focussed and determined. Mickey's eyes were flickering all around him, but they always strayed to the window, staring out into what as fast becoming the night.

The sun had tainted the sky red for a while. _Red sky at night, shepherd's delight_. Mickey didn't know why he thought that.

Mickey was silent because like Carl he never really felt the need for words. But right then at that moment, he didn't have a fucking clue what he could have said even if he had wanted to. He just needed to shut his brain up, he needed to stop the images flickering behind his eyelids every time he blinked.

He wasn't tired, he was hyped up on adrenaline and anger and more than anything, he was flying off of his pain. He'd always been good at doing that, because Mickey had always had a lot of pain to call on. His Dad using him as his personal punching bag. His mother leaving. Every time Mandy cried and he hadn't been able to prevent it. That look on Ian's face when he'd said words he hated himself for. The way Ian had spat out his name, _"Milkovich._" Kara's death. Tegan's fear.

The motel is the definition of shitty when they get there and Carl gets out without a word, heading towards the office. Mickey waited in the car, because he knew if he got out now then he was just going to go and start kicking down random doors trying to find Tegan. He didn't know what Carl said, but eventually he comes back and taps on the window to get Mickey to roll it down.

He does one better and gets out the car.

"Room twelve," he said, pulling the gun out of the back of his trousers and watching as Mickey did the same. Neither of them were stupid enough to come unarmed and it wasn't like a gun wasn't something Mickey carried normally anyway. Especially not since Tegan's shooting. "The guy in the office said there was a girl and two men."

Silently, Mickey thanked his lucky stars that Tegan had been able to take down one before they could drag her out.

He nodded, saying nothing and then looked around at the doors in front of him, searching for number twelve. And there it was, directly above him. The motel was two storey, the white paint on the front of the building cracked and dirty. He rubbed at his bottom lip and spat on the floor to get rid of the taste of blood. It was worse knowing that it wasn't even his blood, it was worse knowing that it was Kara's.

"You just focus on getting her out of there," he said gruffly as they walked up the shitty steps to the second floor. The balcony wasn't wide and the banisters were undoubtedly a safety hazard, but Mickey thought that could maybe work out in his favour later on. "I don't give a fuck what else happens, just get her out."

Somebody else would have argued, but not Carl. Carl just nodded.

They didn't need to worry about being quiet when they walked up to the door. The windows were boarded up to stop the glass from being smashed and there was music blaring loudly from the room next door. Mickey couldn't even here his own footsteps so he definitely didn't have to worry about anyone else hearing them.

The first door on the second floor opened and a barely dressed woman tumbled out, dragging a man by the hand. She was laughing, high pitched and painful for Mickey to listen to. She didn't so much as look at them, too engrossed in her laughter and the man who's hand she held. The thing was that Mickey could tell the difference between what was carefree and what was forced, that laugh was definitely forced. He could tell by the creases around the woman's eyes, by the stress and the sadness etched into the lines of her face.

He had to look away because in a way, it felt almost like he was looking in the mirror. Not for the first time, he wondered what people actually saw when they looked at him.

A shot rang out almost as soon as Mickey kicked the door open, except it hit the wood of the doorframe and Carl was reaching around and firing back with a scary sort of accuracy almost immediately. They could hear Tegan screaming from the bathroom and Mickey jerked his head in that direction before firing off a shot that grazed by the other guy's leg, making him yelp.

Tegan's dad was recognisable by his blonde hair and Mickey felt a sick sort of satisfaction curl in his gut when he realised that there was a deep cut across the side of his neck, bleeding still but obviously nowhere near as much as it had been when he'd received the injury. He recognised that feeling inside of himself as pride and it made him grin, wide and crazy and far too full of teeth.

Plaster exploded near to Mickey's head as a bullet tore into the wall and he fired off another shot at the guy he didn't know, Tegan's Dad having ducked down behind the bed out of sight. Mickey didn't know why he took the moment to notice that there was actually a pretty large window behind the bed considering that it was a shitty motel. Then again, he'd seen stranger things.

Carl cursed when a bullet tore by him and in the bathroom, Tegan screamed out a litany of curses that sort of made Mickey want to blush. Of course he didn't, he was a little busy getting shot at.

Everything was happening fast, too fast it seemed and he could practically smell the adrenaline and the fear in the air. It was heavy and choking, but they were all feeding off of it. Things were happening fast, but at the same time it all seemed to be in slow motion.

He didn't know if it was he or Carl who shot the guy in the neck, but that wasn't what Mickey focussed on. Instead he focussed on the firing of Tegan's dad's gun and for a moment it was like he could almost see the bullet as it streaked through the air. He just had time to slam his hands into Carl's side, forcing him out of the way before he jolted backwards, pain exploding in his shoulder.

Thankfully, he'd pushed Carl in the direction of the bathroom and out of the corner of his eye he could see him crawling towards the bathroom door on his belly, elbows dragging against the dirty brown carpet. The carpet that was the same colour as the blood dried on his clothes.

Except there was red now too. Red on his shoulder where the blood was starting to well up, front and back because Mickey could _feel_ that it had been a through and through wound. He knew what it felt like that that shit hit bone and this wasn't one of those times. He didn't know how it had gone straight through because last time he checked he had fucking _bone_ in his shoulder, but he didn't have time to think about it.

He didn't have time to think about it because the red on his clothes, on the hand he pressed into his shoulder was the same as the red that was clouding up his vision. He dropped the gun to the floor, his arm hanging useless by his side and blood dripping from his fingers onto the carpet. Then he was moving. He was moving as soon as Tegan's Dad made the mistake of standing up, raising his gun to fire one last time.

He never got the chance, because the mantra of _kill the bastard for me, kill the bastard for me. Kill. The. Bastard. For. Me. _was ringing through Mickey's head. And then his body collided with the other man's and pain was exploding in his shoulder again, and he could feel the air being knocked out of his lungs, except he'd tackled the guy low, around the middle. His good shoulder had gone into his gut and they were falling backwards. They were falling out the window, glass shattering around them and raining down, falling faster than their bodies it seemed.

_Kill the bastard for me_.

_Mickey. Mick. Not Milkovich. Mickey. Kill the bastard for me. _

The fall wasn't long, but it was long enough for Mickey to somehow get Tegan's dad underneath him and when they finally hit the ground, the impact was softened slightly for Mickey. It didn't completely detract from it, but it was definitely softened. His shoulder was in complete agony and he could hear the blood pounding through his head.

And Mickey knew, he knew he wasn't light. He was short, but he had packed on muscle since he'd had a need to protect someone other than himself. Not that he'd done that so well, but still. _"Muscle weighs more than fat, Mick," Ian said, his lips stretched into a cocky smile and his eyes shining, "Everyone knows that."_ And this guy underneath him, Tegan's father, he'd had Mickey's full bodyweight slamming him down into concrete.

As Mickey rolled off, pain in his leg now as well as his shoulder – fuck actually, _everything_ hurt – he could feel a stickiness spreading out on the floor and he knew it wasn't just his blood. _He knew it_. He could hear someone screaming and he was pretty sure that it was his name that they were yelling. He could hear sirens in the background, faded out and muffled by the ringing in his ears.

He was pretty sure that he felt hands grabbing his face and saw bright blue swimming above him; but that was right about the time that he blacked out, so he couldn't be sure.


	20. Chapter 20

The air was stale in the backroom of the store. Every time he breathed in, all he could taste was dust and cigarettes; but underneath that if anyone bothered to try and find it, there was the smell of come and sweat. And if someone really focussed, they would be able to smell hints of lime body wash and cheap shampoo.

Splayed flat on the floor with his legs hooked over Ian's hips and his ankles locked at the base of his spine, Mickey pressed his face into the side of Ian's neck and in between pants drew that faint smell of lime into his lungs, held it there until he didn't think he'd ever be able to forget it. The dust was kicked up and swirling around them and the tiny room was filled with the sounds of grunts and low moans, choked off by teeth clamping down onto flesh and faces pressed against skin.

This was one of their rare moments where Mickey could almost let himself think that maybe they wouldn't be so bad at the whole couples shit. They talked. They'd been talking before this while they waited for Linda to go off to a doctor's appointment, something even she couldn't avoid given how pregnant she was. So they were left alone and it was one of their stolen moments and it wasn't beautiful, it was messy and raw and a little bit disgusting given the smell in the backroom and all the dust, but neither of them were going to be picky.

Ian had his hands under Mickey's back, pulling them close together as he pounded into Mickey over and over again, his hips snapping forwards and hitting a place inside of the ex-con that made him want to scream. He didn't, but that didn't mean that he didn't want to. Ian's cheek was pressed against Mickey's temple and he was panting in his ear, occasionally muttering words that only turned Mickey on more. Like that was even possible.

And a part of him thought he should complain, because this wasn't what he thought of when he thought of people fucking. It wasn't what he wanted, or at least it wasn't what he told himself he wanted. This wasn't a nameless fuck, this wasn't meaningless. Even Mickey could acknowledge that; because who the hell fucked someone like this when they meant nothing to each other.

There was only so much that Mickey could lie, even to himself.

"Fuck Mick," Ian choked out when Mickey's teeth clamped down on his shoulder, biting hard enough to draw blood, hard enough to muffle the moan that bubbled up out of his throat.

It felt like Ian was fucking breaking him. It felt like he was shattering a piece of Mickey with every single thrust. Like he was just adding fuel to that fire that had always seemed to burn underneath Mickey's skin. And when Ian shifted his hips just slightly and started hitting his prostate with every goddamn thrust, Mickey was pretty sure that he was seeing stars being his tightly closed eyelids.

And if he smiled against Ian's neck, so what, it wasn't like anyone could see him do it.

He dug his broken, ragged nails into Ian's back, scratched along his spine, clutching at flesh to try and find some sort of purchase. They'd taken advantage of the fact they were completely alone, locked in that little room. Normally it was just a matter of pushing down their pants, but right then they were completely naked. All that Mickey could feel was the hard, cold floor pressed against his back and the rest of him was blanketed by Ian's hot flesh. Flesh that was slick with sweat Mickey's come because the kid was a fucking overachiever and he was already forcing Mickey on towards his second orgasm.

And it was too soon, it was far too fucking soon even though he knew that they'd been going like this for a while now. He didn't have much concept of time, especially not when Ian was grinding his hips down against Mickey's ass and Mickey's dick was rubbing against the coarse hair of Ian's happy trail. It could have been days, it could have been minutes. Right then he didn't give a shit.

All he cared about was the dick sliding in and out of his ass, brushing against his prostate, slamming against it now. All he cared about was the flesh he could dig his teeth and nails into, that he could grab at and hold onto because if he didn't he thought he might just slip through the cracks in the earth. Mickey had always been broken, he'd always been incomplete, but there was just something about Ian Gallagher that seemed to pick up all of the pieces and paste him back together, even as he tore him apart in a completely new way.

He made Mickey _feel_, which wasn't a good concept, but he couldn't run from it even if he tried. And God, he'd tried. He'd run from it, run from Ian, but in the end he always came looping back around to the redhead. He always ended up right back where he'd started, where he wanted to be, with Ian between his thighs and his heartbeat pounding against Mickey's chest frantically.

_Hell_, who the fuck was he kidding, the only thing he cared about completely was in this room. Family didn't count, or at least Mandy didn't count. He was obligated to care about her, to love her. Doing that was easy. Mickey liked easy, he liked simple things. And yet, Ian Gallagher was anything but simple. He was his sister's fake boyfriend for fuck's sake. The fake boyfriend she was blatantly in love with.

And yet, that didn't stop him. It didn't stop Mickey from barrelling on towards the end, towards that cliff that he was inevitably going to fall off of. He was going too fast, always had been. He was going to fast with nowhere to go at all and eventually, he was just doomed to crash. He was doomed to collide and this was all doomed to end. He'd faced that fact a long time ago. Did he like that fact? No. No he didn't. Not that he'd say so ever.

But the way Mickey figured it was that he was fucked for life anyway. He was destined to live short and fast, so he might as well enjoy this while he could. He just had to make sure he was the only one who knew about what was going on inside his head, otherwise he was going to tumble over that cliff early. Far too early.

Ian's hips jerked inside him and his moan was low and guttural as he licked a stripe up the side of Mickey's neck for no reason at all. His rhythm stuttered and faded out, disappearing until it was replaced by erratic, jerky thrusts. He could feel the moment when Ian came, knew with the way that he tensed up, his spine snapping straight as his head tipped back. He moaned and his hands pressed into Mickey's back, causing him to arch up.

He breathed out Mickey's name and that, that right there was what shoved Mickey over the edge right along with him. It wasn't even a push, it was a forceful shove and it was the closest thing to perfection that Mickey was ever going to come to. His dick jerked between them, hot ribbons of his come spilling up between their stomachs, a sticky mess that practically glued them together.

They stayed like that for a while, panting against each other's flesh, too boneless to think about moving straight away. Ian was the first one to pull back, the cold air rushing in between their bodies, flooding a space that hadn't been there before. Mickey shivered.

Ian grinned down at him, overconfident and stupidly beautiful, his face flushed and his eyes shining. His skin was glistening with sweat and his lips with spit and Mickey had to look away because if he didn't, he knew he wouldn't ever be able to. But that didn't stop their eyes from meeting for a long minute and it felt like Ian was staring straight through into his soul. The guy only seemed to smile all the wider.

"Get the fuck off me then," Mickey barked, rolling his eyes, but the command came out breathless. He didn't think he could be blamed after that.

Ian just laughed and knocked their foreheads together clumsily before pulling out and standing up. Mickey shivered for a new reason, his body feeling stupid empty, a weight seeming to settle back down onto him now. Ian reached down a hand and pulled him up, smiling still at whatever he saw in Mickey's expression.

"Shut up," Mickey muttered even though Ian hadn't said a single word. But then, just like always his words were written all over his fucking face anyway. Mickey hated the fact that he supposed he was probably exactly the same.

-000-

Mickey woke up with a shuddering moan, a name on his lips that he didn't speak, because he knew that the images in his head were ones he was supposed to have forgotten. He knew they were the past, but that didn't stop him craving for one stupid minute that they could be the present.

Hands curled around his wrist, fluttered across his neck and then finally skimming over his cheek. He opened his eyes to see Tegan's wide blue eyes staring down at him. For the first time in a long time, he met someone's eyes and she just crumpled. She fell against him and curled up against his side, saying nothing, just sobbing, her tears dropping against Mickey's skin.

He'd never been a big fan of words, never knew the right ones to say and he definitely didn't then. But more to the point, he didn't need them. So he just curled the one arm that wasn't throbbing with a dull pain around Tegan's back and hugged her closer to him, letting her cling to him with weak, boneless fingers because really, he knew that the only thing they really had anymore was each other.

But what Mickey also knew, what he'd also seen in Tegan's eyes other than heartstopping, overwhelming pain and sadness, was _relief_. Because even with everything they'd lost, it was over. They didn't have to run anymore.


	21. Chapter 21

They told him that considering the fact that he'd fallen out of a window and had also been shot on top of that, that he was pretty damn lucky. He had a concussion, a broken leg and a sprained wrist, but that was in the same arm as the bullet wound, so he couldn't really feel it. He was drugged up and sleepy, but he forced himself to stay away to comfort Tegan and to listen to be read his own statement by the cop Tony.

Apparently Carl had gotten Fiona to pull some strings and since Tony had been the first one on the scene they were twisting the story slightly to say that Carl had been there all along with Tegan when she'd been kidnapped and it had been Tegan's father who had tackled Mickey out the window, not the other way around. Mickey who had only just run onto the scene when he'd come back from finding Kara dead in their apartment.

It was a bit of a bullshit story, but the cops in Southside Chicago were too lazy to really give a shit and he was pretty sure that Fiona's rich boyfriend had caused some money to be exchanged hands somewhere. Mickey didn't really give too much of a shit. All he cared about was the broken teenage girl that refused to move from where she'd curled up against his side.

Mickey didn't know what they were going to do now, but he figured that they'd just take it a step at a time.

The first step was getting Tegan to calm down and stop crying with a gentle touch against her spine and the spoken truth that Kara would kick their ass for grieving too much. At least openly. Tegan nodded numbly at that, but she straightened up, wiping the tears from her cheeks and biting her lip hard enough to make it bleed in order to stop any more from falling.

"You're my hero," she whispered when she thought that he'd passed out again, her lips close to his ear and her voice not even shaking in the slightest when she whispered the words. Quiet enough for them to be a secret, quiet enough so that nobody else could hear. And he thought that maybe she did know he was awake after all.

Mickey didn't say anything, he wasn't expected to, but he was pretty sure that the ache inside of his chest had nothing to do with his wounds. He was also pretty sure it was a good feeling, but it was so alien that it was hard to be positive. He didn't have a name for the feeling, but he didn't really need to have one actually.

The next step apparently was to be yelled at by his sister; which didn't surprise him all that much. Mandy ranted and raved and then hugged him so tight his shoulder flared up again. But he didn't say anything. He let her have that moment and then told her truthfully that there wasn't anything for them to be afraid of anymore.

He'd never seen Mandy look so relieved.

And then there was the moment that Carl chose to appear, when Tegan had finally left the room to go see if she could find some half decent coffee or something. He'd probably been waiting for that moment and he slipped into the room and just stared at the wall behind Mickey's head for a long few minutes.

"You saved my life," he said and there wasn't any sort of real emotion in those words. It was just a statement. And maybe Mickey had saved his life by taking that bullet. Maybe he hadn't. Maybe it would have just hit the wall or clipped his arm. Or maybe it would have hit Carl in the chest, stopped his heart.

There were a lot of maybes right there, but he supposed it didn't really matter.

"You helped save hers," he replied just as bluntly, in exactly the same tone, because he was starting to realise that in some weird way, just slightly, him and Carl were one in the same. They weren't _the_ same, not even close, but they understood each other and that was just fine.

Carl nodded and didn't seem to feel the need to say anything more on the subject. He didn't say thanks, because his thanks had been in the fact he'd even come here at all to say those words. Mickey understood that, it was all Mickey needed to hear. Hell, it was _more_ than Mickey needed to hear.

"I won't tell," he said before he turned away and Mickey could feel the frown creasing up his forehead, "About Ian," he clarified. He licked his lips nervously, like he was waiting for Mickey to blow up in his face or something. And Mickey would have done, but honestly, he just didn't have the energy. "I won't tell ever," Carl promised as he slipped back out of the room and the weird part was, Mickey actually trusted him on that one.

Tegan turned up with coffee a few minutes later and she had a ghost of colour in her cheeks that made Mickey feel like the world had righted slightly. She wasn't any better, none of this was and she wasn't okay, but then neither of them had ever been. But that small splash of colour at least meant that they were getting there.

The next step was getting discharged. It was Mickey pulling a face at the fact that they now had even more hospital bills to pay. Tegan came in the day after he got home and said she'd been offered a job. It was at the Kash and Grab doing Ian's old job and the pay as higher than minimum wage, better than most other people would pay. Mickey didn't know what that meant, he didn't know why Linda would do that, but he wasn't going to complain. They needed the money, plain and simple.

Then there was that horrifyingly painful step of burying Kara. The Gallaghers did their usual thing where they all pulled together and scammed people out of money. Just like they did when Mandy needed an abortion, something Mickey _so_ didn't want to think about because seriously, sometimes he didn't know how the hell either of them could be related to their sick fuck of a father. He didn't know why they were doing it, didn't ask, because he didn't want to know actually. It didn't quite feel like a hand out because it hadn't exactly been money honestly earned, so Mickey accepted it. She got a relatively nice coffin and a better headstone than Mickey or Tegan could ever have hoped to afford.

They could have had her cremated, but that just seemed sort of twisted considering what had happened in the past with the fire and everything. So they buried her. And everyone left Mickey and Tegan to their own devices, let them grieve on their own, just two figures standing at the foot of the grave and throwing dirt down on top of the coffin with fingers that were already grubby anyway. They didn't get dressed up, not really, even though Mickey did take a shower the day before. Kara would have laughed at them if they'd done that. So they didn't.

They didn't cry either. They just stood silent, side by side as the wind whistled through the gaps in the trees surrounding the cemetery. As the wind whistled through the cracks in their lives that would probably never be filled in. They didn't move for a long time; not even when the heavens opened up above them and the rain running down their faces could have been mistaken for tears.

Mickey became Tegan's legal guardian because nobody wanted another pissed off teenager on the system and as far as a lot of people were concerned, Mickey was her family anyway. It hadn't said Milkovich on Kara's headstone. They'd put her maiden name, Williams and Mickey had scratched on the same image of Kara's tattoo himself. The same tattoo that both he and now Tegan had on their skin. He'd gotten his the day that he had been told at the hospital that Kara was improving. The birds were on his ribcage, Tegan's were on her shoulder.

There wasn't the usual script on the headstone, it didn't say "Loving mother and friend" or some shit like that. Instead it had the lyrics of the song that Kara had always insisted on playing every time they headed off to a new place. Run by Daughter.

_**So we'll keep each other as safe as we can, **_

_**Until we reach the border, **_

_**Until we make our plan,**_

_**To run. . . **_

Mickey thought it was stupid, but he knew she would have liked it, so he mouthed the words silently as he stared at them, the song he knew he'd probably never be able to forget drifting through his brain just like the wind through the cemetery.

He didn't like the first line much, because it made him feel like he'd failed. He was supposed to keep them safe, to keep them alive, except maybe the line did have a point. _As safe as we can_. There'd never really been any option of all of them coming out of it alive, he saw that now. Maybe he'd seen that in the beginning. Kara had always said that her ex would be the death of her.

But that didn't mean Mickey had to like the fact that she was right.

After that, the final step just seemed to be living. Not moving on. . . just living. Because really, Mickey didn't think they knew how to do much else actually. They knew how to run and they knew how to live and they'd slowly run out of options for what they could do. He supposed living was probably the better one though.


	22. Chapter 22

_The air was too thick as he breathed in and he could taste something metallic in the back of his throat that almost made him gag. Except he recognised another smell, something underneath the clogged up, heavy smell. It was barely there, but it felt like everything he was, the thing that made him who he was, his soul maybe or whatever, that recognised the smell. And that was why Mickey's feet moved him forwards instead of backwards. _

_He didn't have a clue where he was and he had even less idea where he was going, but he was pretty used to that feeling. Mickey never knew where he was headed, if anywhere. He thought maybe it was the streets of New York, except there were no people, no cars and no signs or anything. Everything was just bare and empty. Mickey thought for a second that maybe he should be scared, but he was a Milkovich, they didn't do fear. Not really. _

_Out of the corner of his eye he could see tendrils of darkness creeping up the building, but every time he twisted around to look there was nothing there. _

_The smell was getting stronger, but at the same time so was that taste in the back of his throat. It was clogging up his senses, thick and heavy and weighing him down. Coughing didn't help and he tried to spit but his tongue suddenly felt like sandpaper in his mouth. _

_Mickey wasn't normally clumsy person, he'd grown up in a house where breathing could warrant a punch; so being clumsy had never been an option. Mickey was a careful sort of person, or at least he liked to think so. He wasn't so sure what he thought of himself anymore. _

_He grunted as he hit the floor, his feet sliding against the ground suddenly and everything span in shades of black and white and grey; but then Mickey hadn't seen in colour for a long time. He pushed himself up onto his hands and knees and suddenly everything was stained red. It was sticking to his skin and clinging to his clothes, soaking through the material and moulding them onto him slick and warm. _

"_Mickey."_

_His name was whispered, the voice so familiar that it made something inside of him break and scream. He looked away from the red on his hands and staggered to his feet, following the smudged path across the floor. It wasn't a street anymore, it was just a plain slab of concrete. He slipped several times and then almost crashed to the floor when he found them. _

_Kara and Tegan were lying pale and motionless beside each other, their faces turned up to a sky that wasn't there. They looked peaceful, like they were asleep, except Mickey knew the difference. They were lying off to the side, untouched by the red, painted in shades of white and grey. Darkness licked up around them like flames and Mickey could feel the prick of tears behind his eyelids. _

"_Mick."_

_He tore his gaze away from Kara and Tegan and found him. He was slumped in a puddle of colour, his back resting against a wall that hadn't been there a few seconds ago. The edges of it were charred and blackened and the cracking paint was smeared with blood. Ian was dressed in combat uniform, his jacket stripped away and cast aside, almost completely swallowed up by the red. His hands were pressed against his belly and Mickey could see the red bubbling up through his fingers, could see it striped across Ian's cheekbone like war paint. _

"_Mick."_

_His lips barely moved when he spoke, but Mickey could hear his name clearly, the weight of it slamming into him like a truck. A choked sort of noise dragged its way out of his lungs as he crashed down next to Ian by the wall, scrabbling to hold his face, pushing his thumbs against the corners of Ian's mouth to try and force the grimace into a smile just slightly. His fingers curled around behind Ian's ears, pushing into his hair a little._

_His hair had always been so bright, but it looked dull now in comparison to all the blood. _

"_You were supposed to save us," Ian said, his voice nothing more than a whisper even though Mickey heard it like a shout. His fingers lifted up from the wound on his stomach to curl around Mickey's wrists, the pressure barely there at all and that wasn't right, that wasn't right at all because there had never been anything weak about Gallagher touching him. _

_Every touch had always felt like a brand, searing right through to Mickey's soul, but this didn't. This touch was barely even there. He felt like maybe he wanted to cry and then he knew he was because Ian's hands were moving to his face, pressing against his cheeks and smudging red against them. But Mickey didn't care, he just hauled Ian closer by his grip on his head, pressed their foreheads together, their hands touching as well. _

"_You weren't supposed to leave me," Ian said, but it didn't sound like the accusation it should have been, "You weren't supposed to hurt me."_

_Mickey shook his head against what Ian was saying, because he didn't get it. Ian had never gotten it. Mickey was never supposed to do anything. He'd never wanted to hurt Ian. He'd rather had hurt himself a thousand times over rather than hurt Ian, but it had been inevitable. Just like everything seemed to inevitably come to an end for Mickey. All of the good things, they all ended too soon. _

"_I'm sorry," he muttered against the darkness as it closed in around them, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."_

_And he was. He was more sorry than he would ever be, more sorry than he ever make Ian understand. More sorry than he knew how to say; because Mickey had never been good with words, he'd never been a talker, not like Ian was. "I'm sorry."_


	23. Chapter 23

He woke up to feel Tegan pressing against his side in the darkness, her head pillowed on his shoulder and her arms curled around herself. He knew she was awake, but she said nothing, she just hummed softly under her breath the tune that neither of them could ever forget. She didn't ever say anything about how Mickey would wake up in the middle of the night crying, sometimes screaming out and always saying he was sorry with his eyes screwed tight shut. Just like Mickey didn't ever complain when she felt the need to cling to his side, to curl into him in the middle of the night to try and latch onto the last thing that she had.

Or at least the last thing she thought that she had.

The only time she didn't slide underneath the covers with him in the middle of the night was when Carl was there, when she could curl around him instead. When Carl was there the apartment seemed much less quiet, the ghosts seemed to fade out of sight for a while. When Carl was there it was all noise and laughter and it was like somehow he'd become the glue that held them both together.

Their lives felt too empty with just the two of them. They felt too empty without Kara there to roll her eyes or spit out her beer with a grimace.

They'd moved apartments of course, bought a new place and filled it all with new furniture. They'd painted the walls bright colours, got better beds and a better couch than before. They didn't talk about it, they didn't talk about the fact that that was just their way of trying to fill the space. During the day they laughed and smiled and scowled and didn't everything that they had ever done, they _survived_, but at night when it was just the two of them and the silence that weighed them down, the loss that seemed to shackle them to the ground, that was when they let themselves finally break a little bit.

Some days Mickey didn't drink anything at all, some days he remained stone cold sober and then on others he drank far too much. He drank until he passed out on the couch, a bottle still swinging from his fingertips. And Tegan didn't say a word, she just cleaned up the bottles and cans and woke him up enough to get him into bed, wiping the salty tears from his cheeks when he shot awake in the middle of the night. And in return, Mickey didn't chide her for the days when Carl brought her home unconscious, both of them reeking of weed and booze. He just carried her inside and cleaned her up, swaddling her in blankets like she was a newborn and touching her arm comfortingly when she murmured for her mother.

Time slid through their fingers, the summer melting into the autumn and the autumn into the winter. They were invited around to the Gallaghers for Christmas to join them and a very swollen and fat Mandy. Mickey even managed a smile and Tegan didn't cry a single tear; both of them pretended they were alright so effectively, so determinedly that their facial muscles hurt by the end of the day.

Mickey was offered beer and weed, practically plied with it, but he just shook his head and sat next to Mandy on the couch, his arm clung around her shoulders and pulled faces when she pressed his hand against her belly to feel the baby's kicks. Even though he would admit that did make him sort of want to smile. He didn't drink because he knew if he did then he was going to break and he hadn't lit up a single joint since the final one he'd lit for Kara. He didn't want to taste that, didn't want to taste the last thing she'd tasted. He didn't want to taste the thing she'd hated most of all on her taste buds.

When the baby came Mickey and Tegan woke up obligingly in the ridiculously early hours of the morning and tumbled into the hospital with their hair a mess and their eyes clogged up with sleep. And it was disgusting, but Mickey stayed in the room while Mandy gave birth and let her squeeze the fuck out of his hand. He watched Mandy and Lip coo over the baby girl with careful, wary eyes and didn't even hesitate when Mandy asked him if he wanted to hold her. She was tiny, as pale as a porcelain doll and her tiny hands grabbed at Mickey as he curled his body over her. She had Mandy's wide blue eyes and the tuft of hair on her head was blonde like Lip's.

She was perfect, even Mickey could see that and for some reason the weight of the baby in his arms filled in another crack in his soul. He smiled genuinely happy when Mandy told him that her name was Michelle and warned him in a dangerous voice that if he ever let her get hurt she'd put his nuts in a vice, because let's face it, even though he could try, Lip was just never going to be as effective at being threatening as Mickey was.

He didn't even grimace when they forced him to have his picture taken, but he handed Michelle back pretty quickly before they could badger him into any more.

Eight months after Kara's death and he and Tegan were both acting a lot more whole. She didn't curl up in his bed every night now, didn't cling to him in public like was a life line. There wasn't the same dependency, even though he knew that to some degree it was always going to be there and that was fine, he was okay with that. He was okay with the clinging as well, but he didn't need anyone thinking he'd gone soft.

It unnerved him when he had people passing by him in the street, people he hardly even knew and they told him that they were sorry for his loss. They weren't, they didn't give a shit, but Mickey was spread too thin, too strung out nowadays to call them out. He didn't ever do anything other than nod before he kept on walking.

After ten months Carl moved in without anyone even talking about it. It just happened and Mickey couldn't think of a reason to complain for the life of him, because the kid wasn't so bad actually. Sure, he was still bat shit crazy, but he made Tegan laugh and that didn't happen often enough so Mickey decided that that was all that mattered.

Summer rolled back around and the burns on Mickey's legs were still tight and uncomfortable, but he wasn't so ashamed of them anymore. He put shorts on for the first time since the fire when Tegan announced she wanted to go to the Alibi Room for a drink. He pretended he didn't know she ran back into the bathroom to cry. And sure, people stared, but he was still Mickey Milkovich and people weren't stupid enough to say anything.

The Gallaghers all stared, eyes bugging out a little when he first sauntered over to their pool and leant against the edge while Tegan pissed about in the water with Carl, dunking him repeatedly because she was a badass and that would never change. They all stared at the marred skin and even asked a handful of questions, but after that it wasn't mentioned again.

Some days Mickey stared at himself in the mirror and thought that he could track every memory with scar. The one on his thigh, the burns on his legs and now the shining circles of silver front and back on his shoulder. He didn't think they were so bad though actually, not since all of them had a story.

Since Lip was off being a genius and Mandy got a decent job, Mickey somehow wound up being dubbed regular babysitting. Or at least he had to look after the kid for a few days a week, but it was alright because she was actually pretty easy to care for. She didn't cry too much and he was the one who managed to coax her first smile out of her, even though he didn't share that with Mandy. Especially not when she rang him up gushing about how she'd been the first one to see Michelle – although they called her Shelly now – smile.

It was just over a year since Kara had died, the anniversary of her death having been celebrated by him and Tegan sitting alone in Mickey's room, steadily drinking themselves to sleep and playing darts with all of the knives they had in the house. They couldn't really remember much the next morning, but then that had sort of been the idea if Mickey was being honest. He didn't want to forget, he just wanted them to be able to survive.

It was three weeks after the anniversary of her death, the weather still swelteringly hot, when Ian Gallagher showed his face in Chicago again, done with the army for good according to Mandy. It was one of those rare days when everyone seemed to have a day off work and Tegan managed to persuade Mickey not to be so cranky and they all piled down to the beach.

It was busy and Mickey hated the beach just on principle, but really if he thought about it then there was actually a million reasons why the hatred was logical. The salt was itchy when it was on your skin and the sand got fucking everywhere; and now he had the added problem of the fact that the burns on his legs got painful if they were exposed to too much sunlight. But he was there because Tegan had pleaded and that was how he ran into Ian Gallagher again, since nobody had thought it was a good idea to tell him that he'd come home the day before.

Then again, why would anyone tell him that?

Carl didn't mention it though and he knew sure enough, but then the guy had always been a bit of a mystery so Mickey wasn't all that surprised. He was the first one to get to the beach with Carl and Tegan, which meant he didn't have to have too many witnesses to the embarrassing argument about putting on sun cream that he had with Tegan. Obviously, she won, which was why he felt like he was sliding across his towel, a ridiculous amount slathered onto his actually completely clean skin.

He had another towel over his shins to protect the burns even though they'd covered them up with an extra helping of his usual cream and the sun cream as well. He tried to ignore the fact that Carl was apparently having way too much fun rubbing the sun cream into Tegan's back by lying back and shutting his eyes.

Which was the reason he was caught off guard when the others arrived.

Mandy kicked the bottom of his foot and grinned down at him, already in nothing but shorts and a bikini top, which meant that Mickey was seeing far too much of his sister's flesh for his liking. Thankfully, he was able to be distracted from that by the six month old child making grabby hands at him. He sat up enough to take her from Mandy, bouncing her on his raised knees and shooting Tegan a thankful look when she caught the towel before it slid off of his shins.

Mickey wasn't really an affectionate person, but Shelly was different. For one she was a baby and she was also one of two people related to him that he didn't hate, so to him that meant he would actually make an effort. And besides, it was hard not to get attached when you looked after the kid as much as Mickey did.

The little girl was babbling away at him in gibberish like she always seemed to do now and Mickey smirked at her before setting her down on the towel so that Mandy could plonk a hat on her head. She'd just mastered sitting up on her own and had also taken to grabbing things, which was something Mickey knew was going to result in disaster eventually.

Shelly had inherited her father's brains; not a good thing to be combined with Milkovich blood.

And then there he was, standing not far from the foot of his towel and staring down with wide eyes. His hair was practically glowing in the sunlight and he made Mickey feel small towering over him like that, but then he'd always made Mickey feel small.

He looked good and that was so blaringly obvious that Mickey had to look away, because it just made Mickey feel even more broken than he already did. Ian was whole and perfect, untouched by grief or pain, his skin smoothed and blemished only with freckles. Mickey, Mickey was just a shell now and he didn't know how to look at something so complete and feign noncholance, not anymore.

"Hey," Ian was the first one to speak, his voice low, wary.

It was awkward, whatever it was that hung in between them, it was awkward.

"Hey," Mickey muttered back, taking a cigarette out of the packet beside him just because he needed something to do with his hands.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ian strip off his shirt and arch his back, cracking it.

"We're going to go down to the sea," Tegan said, touching his arm to draw his attention to her. She didn't ask if he wanted to come, they both knew he didn't. The salt irritated the burns, made them sting.

He nodded. "Dunk him for me," he said, motioning to Carl, "The fucker ate one of my pots of Jell-O."

Tegan grinned and then she was taking off running, everyone else following behind soon after, laughing and smiling and feeling weightless in a way Mickey couldn't anymore. Only Ian looked back to where Mickey had stretched back out on his towel, confusion twisting up his expression as well as a strange sort of bitterness that Mickey couldn't decipher, that he didn't want to look at.


	24. Chapter 24

**So I know it isn't the best chapter and it's shorter than I'd like, but I've been having writer's block and have been finding it difficult to pick this back up now I'm back from holiday. But hopefully it didn't turn out too badly. . . please read and review, it gives me incentive :)**

"Mickey too good for going in the water or something?" Ian asked, looking back over his shoulder at where Mickey was sprawled out on his towel still. He looked good, but at the same time he looked like shit. Physically he'd bulked up some, something that was probably necessary for his job, but there were dark circles under his eyes and just something about him that practically screamed _defeated_. He looked strung out, hollow almost.

It was strange because normally, no matter what, Mickey had always looked at least a little bit alive. Even if it was in a way that made him feel like he was irritated in his own skin, he'd still seemed alive.

Lip shrugged, watching where Mandy was playing with Shelly at the water's edge. They'd waded in a little bit further up to their thighs and even further out Tegan and Carl were already doing their best to dunk each other under the surface of the water. He'd been surprised when he'd heard that Carl had moved in with Tegan, surprised Mickey had let him, but seeing them together it sort of made sense. And he doubted that Carl would blow anything up with Mickey being under the same roof.

"It irritates his skin," Lip said, not even joking, his face completely serious. Which was weird.

Ian snorted, "So what, he's just going to lie there all day?"

"Probably," Lip replied, smiling when Mandy lifted Shelly up into the air, hugging her close before dunking her feet in the water again. It was a sweet sight and Ian would admit that his brother could make a damn cute kid, even though with Mandy's genes they were bound to. He felt like he'd missed out on a lot not being here for the birth or for the first six months, but Lip told him that it wasn't like she'd remember it anyway and they'd sent him enough pictures.

Ian didn't say that the one he looked at the most was of Mickey holding the new born baby. It was strange seeing Mickey with a child, but then he supposed that he'd done well with Tegan.

"Why the hell did he even bother coming then?" he asked, still scowling back in the direction of Mickey. For some reason he had a towel covering his legs, which was stupid to say the least.

Lip frowned at him. "Because Tegan begged him to," he said in a low voice, "And cut him some slack dude, seriously, he's been through a lot."

"Like what?" Ian asked, snorting, "Whatever he's been through he brings on himself, he always does."

Lip just stared at him for a second like he was only just realising that actually, Ian had been away for over a year in a foreign country with the army and catching up on local gossip wasn't high up on his priority lists. Even if it was gossip – or just plain information really – to do with Mickey. The chances of him actually knowing that Lip was talking about were still slim and it seemed like his brother was only just realising that fact.

"Kara died," he said rather bluntly, but he sounded pained at the same time, like that fact had put him through an experience he didn't really want to relive. And Ian didn't have the courage to ask what the hell happened, or maybe it was more that he wanted to hear the story from Mickey, but he knew that right then all that was registering on his face was blank shock. Lip had obviously managed to see something in his expression though because he grimaced and said, "Yeah, I know."

"And how are they. . ." he doesn't even finish that question because he knew how stupid it was. Even if Mickey bottled it all up, he knew that the guy wouldn't be fine. And Tegan had lost her mother and looking at her right then, Ian thought he could finally understand why Tegan's smile faltered and slipped when she thought nobody was looking.

Lip shrugged, chewing on his bottom lip for a second like he was considering how much he should say and how much Ian should just figure out on his own. If he was being honest, Ian had always been the more observant one anyway. "They pretend they're fine even if they're not," he said eventually and then turned to head back towards the beach, "And if I were you, I wouldn't try and say you're sorry to Mickey, he hates that."

And yeah, Ian could imagine. He hadn't even really been planning on it. Mickey had never really been the one to accept comfort, to even need it. He was more the type to just bottle it all up and lock it away until it threatened to cook him from the inside out. Usually the explosion was really quite spectacular, often not in a good way. Actually, _never_ in a good way.

He spent the rest of the day watching Mickey, tracking for any signs of real emotion that he knew _had_ to be there even if he couldn't see them. He noticed the way that Mickey didn't actually move from his position at any time and how he turned down the joint that Lip offered around. And he definitely noticed the way that under no circumstances did Mickey meet Ian's gaze. In fact, he spent the majority of the time letting sand run through his fingers and Ian wondered if that meant something, he thought it probably did.

"Heard about Kara," he said lamely when they'd finally been left alone.

Mickey's eyes flickered towards him for a second before he stared back down at the sand. "Yeah, good for you," he muttered, lighting a cigarette in the silence that followed. He blew smoke out of his nostrils, for the moment looking every bit like the angry bull that Ian often associated him with in his mind.

"How did it happen?" he asked, cringing at his own bluntness. He hadn't meant to ask that, but he just needed to fill the silence. Even if it was with Mickey being mad at him, he still wanted the guy to open up a little. Just a little. Even just to yell. Mickey's way of coping with stuff had never been healthy, Ian knew that better than most.

Mickey did turn to look at him that time, his eyes on fire and his mouth twisted into a snarl. "And how the fuck did that become any of your business?" he asked, spitting out the words and flicking the second half of his cigarette away haphazardly, forcing himself jerkily to his feet.

And maybe Ian would have said something to stop him storming off, if he hadn't been so engrossed by the burns that crawled their way up the flesh of Mickey's legs, his shorts doing nothing to hide their presence. And suddenly a whole lot made sense, some of Lip's comments, Mickey's attitude, the fact the guy was suicidal enough to wear slacks in the middle of summer. The doctor at the hospital's comments made sense as well and the mention of cream. Ian couldn't help but feel like an idiot for not working it out.

But then again, Mickey had always been great at hiding things he was ashamed of. Ian would know, he was still one of those things.


	25. Chapter 25

**Okay, so I think I'm going to say this is the last chapter. I can't think of any other way to end it and I hope it's okay, if not just PM me or something to yell at me and I'll maybe add another chapter. I don't know if I could though. Either way, sorry for the wait and thank you so much for everyone who has reviewed along the way. Enjoy. . . **

Mickey couldn't completely explain his reasoning behind it, especially since he still hated the sight of them, but it suddenly became his mission to get Ian to look at the burns on his legs whenever there was an opportunity. He wanted him to say something, wanted the guy to comment and just say _something_. Maybe it was because he wanted an excuse to blow up in Ian's face or maybe he just wanted to see whether Ian would think they looked as ugly as they made him feel. He didn't really know. He told himself he didn't particularly care.

The best part about it was though, that he didn't even have to try in order to have an excuse to let Ian see the burns. Especially since now that Carl had moved in – not that that was actually a new thing, but still – to his apartment with Tegan, Ian felt like it was compulsory to stop by and see him every few days. He thought for a second it could have been a Gallagher thing, after all they were close, but the instant he saw the surprise in Carl's expression when Ian turned up for a beer yet again, he knew that the real reason was probably more an excuse for Gallagher to get close to him.

Because Mickey wasn't exactly confident about the fact Gallagher could want him still, but he definitely knew that when Ian felt like he wanted to know something, he was like a fucking dog with a bone. And there was definitely something that Ian wanted to know, he just didn't have the balls to ask.

So Ian coming around every few days just to sit in front of the TV next to his brother and drink their beer had become a thing; and Mickey would be damned if he was going to say anything about it. Because even though he wouldn't admit it and he blamed the fact it had been far too long since he'd last gotten laid for the paths his thoughts were following, that stupid part of him that was stuck being an eternal teenager clung to the possibility of getting whatever fragile _something_ he and Ian had had back.

Not that they had had anything for years, but that was beside the point. Mickey was many things, but he wasn't stupid enough to completely give up on the best fuck of his life when there was a possibility he wouldn't have to let said fuck go.

Therefore he swallowed his own insecurities and waited half an hour after hearing Ian walk through the door, Mickey wandered out in his boxers, something that wasn't all that strange since he did actually do that anyway even when Ian wasn't there. "You seen my phone?" he asked Carl, not even bothering to look at Ian where he was stretched out across the couch.

He scratched his stomach and wandered through into the kitchen part of the open plan apartment to grab a beer. Probably not the best thing to be having as a first thing since he'd woken up, but it just felt like one of those days. Like one of those days where everything was pressing in on him. He'd woken up gasping, trying to remember how to breathe and a scream clinging to his vocal cords. He just prayed he hadn't actually screamed since Gallagher was in the apartment.

Carl and Tegan were both more than used to it by now and they both knew better than to say anything. Well, Tegan knew better than to say anything, Carl didn't, but on the other hand the guy didn't really give a shit about anything other than Tegan, blowing shit up and beer. And he had a slight obsession with chicken nuggets, but given that Mickey had gone through fazes of eating nothing but Snickers bars and Jell-O, he didn't think he could really pass too much judgement on that one.

"I think Tee took it," Carl told him, the glazed look in his eyes saying that he was more than a little bit high. Mickey would give it five minutes before he fell asleep and he was glad about that, because then he could dump Carl in his room and attempt to escape the memories that the smell of weed brought up.

Mickey pulled a face, both at the fact that Tegan had taken his phone – who the hell would be calling him was not the point at all – and the smell of weed and pushed Ian's legs off the end of the couch so that he could sit down. Ian looked a little surprised that Mickey hadn't pushed Carl off the armchair he'd announced as his countless times. But really, how was Mickey supposed to explain that he'd been having nightmares since Kara had died and watching Ian die almost every night made him feel some sort of fucked up need to be near the guy?

And more to the point, if he was ever going to explain that – _he so wasn't_ – how the hell was he supposed to make it sound any way not faggy to be admitting that. Mickey hadn't even had nightmares as a kid. Not even when he'd come home to find his brothers beating the shit out of a gay kid and had spent the better part of the remaining week panicking over what they'd do if they found out he was gay. He told himself it didn't count as a nightmare if he was awake. Although, admittedly back then he'd always made sure he was either drunk out of his mind or high beyond belief to even have it in him to dream.

He just wished that was possible now.

"You still working for drug dealers?" Ian asked conversationally after a two minutes. And yes, Mickey was counting because he wanted to know when the hell he was going to be able to move Carl. The smell of weed was making him want to run away, but Mickey didn't run from the likes of a Gallagher. He used to say that he wasn't enough of a coward to run at all, but then looking back at his life now he hadn't exactly done anything else.

Mickey snorted and didn't look away from the television, "Yeah, because I'm qualified to do anything else."

"That's what I think," Ian said randomly, because he'd always been good at oversharing and for some reason that had always seemed to intensify when he was with Mickey, no matter what the older man did to discourage it. Ian just seemed to like blurting out random facts about his life.

He frowned, "You talkin' bout the army?"

That much was obvious really and Mickey didn't actually find it all that strange. It was simple logic. Ian had spent pretty much all of his life, or at least as long as Mickey had known him, wanting to be in the army. It was the only thing he'd really worked for and now that he was done with that he didn't know what to do. He still had a long stretch of life in front of him unless someone introduced the back of his skull to a cricket bat for being a fag, so yeah Mickey thought it was logical that Ian didn't have a fucking clue what he was doing.

Ian nodded, chewing on his bottom lip for a second like he had always used to do. "Yeah, I don't know what I want to do now," he admitted, rubbing a hand through his hair, "I don't know what I _can_ do now."

Mickey snorted. "Do some physical shit or something, like I dunno a physical trainer," he muttered before he could stop himself. Really he was just talking, saying exactly what was popping into his head, which was a weird thing for him, a _different_ thing for him, but really he was just terrified of what Ian could discover if he let the silence stretch out for too long between them. Gallagher had always been good at seeing through Mickey's silences. "Doesn't being an officer in the army mean you already know how to yell at people to get in shape or something?"

He didn't know if it was a good or bad thing that when he glanced out of the corner of his eye at Ian, the redhead actually looked like he was considering that to be a half decent idea. Thankfully he was saved from having to listen to whatever the fuck Gallagher was going to say next by one of Carl's snores rattling through the apartment.

Huffing out a sigh of relief, he pushed off the couch and grabbed one of Carl's hands, hauling him over his shoulder. He didn't care about waking the guy up, because honestly there was no way that was going to happen. Carl could sleep like a rock, something that no doubt came from growing up in a house where there had always been a lot of noise. Mickey was pretty much the same. The other thing that was good about Carl was that he didn't actually weigh a hell of a lot. He was dangerous because he was fucked in the head, but he was a scrawny bastard so it was almost too easy to lift him up.

Mickey dumped the younger Gallagher onto the bed he shared with Tegan, not really doing it ceremoniously or anything, just leaving him sprawled exactly as he landed. It wasn't like Mickey actually gave that much of a shit about him sleeping in his own bed, especially since he was only moving the guy so that he could try and chase the stench of weed out of the living room without looking like a complete pussy.

Although, Ian was still there so he was probably going to have to just deal with it for a little longer anyway.

"So, how did you get those burns?" Ian asked almost as soon as he'd sat down and it hadn't actually occurred to Mickey until then – and seriously, he felt like an idiot for it not having done – that maybe the only reason Ian hadn't caved and asked him about them already was because either Carl or Tegan had always been with them.

Mickey scowled, not sure how he wanted to handle this conversation now that he was actually having it. "In a fire dumbass, how do you think?" he muttered, grabbing another beer from the fridge and automatically getting one for Ian.

Ian stared at him for a minute, his gaze completely unwavering and Mickey wanted to look away but Ian just kept staring, seeming to be searching for something in his expression. Which was exactly what Mickey didn't want him to be doing. He didn't want him to be looking, he didn't want some fucked up part of him to want Ian to be looking for something. _So why couldn't he look away?_

"Kara's ex tried to kill her by setting our motel on fire," he admitted eventually, finally able to look away the moment that the first word was out. Except it only took another few seconds for him to be looking back to Ian, trying to gauge his reaction, trying to see if there even would be one. "I went in and got her out, end of story."

Ian actually snorted at that, which wasn't really the reaction Mickey had been expecting. Not that he had the faintest clue what the fuck he had been expecting from Gallagher. "Only you could play that off like it's something that doesn't even fucking matter," Ian muttered, rolling his eyes and dragging a hand through his hair again, making Mickey focus on the movements of the muscles in his arms for a second.

Mickey frowned at him a little, not sure what else he was supposed to do because he didn't know how he felt about Ian thinking he was predictable. The only people he'd admitted that to had told him he'd done a good thing, had made it into something heroic and a big deal and he hated it. He hated to be reminded, especially now that it had all been for nothing because he'd failed and let Kara die anyway. He'd let Kara_ be killed_ anyway. Yet there was Ian _fucking_ Gallagher just rolling his eyes and not doing anything Mickey could possibly hate him for.

It was stupid. And then. . . "Can I touch them?"

"Fuck off," Mickey said sharply, "This ain't a fucking petty zoo, Gallagher, Jesus."

Of course, Ian leant forwards anyway and dragged his fingers tentatively down Mickey's calf. Mickey sucked in a harsh breath and the expression on Ian's face was unreadable. There was a small frown puckering the skin between his eyebrows, like the simple act of tracing his fingers down the Mickey's leg was taking up all of his concentration. And unless the army had fried pretty much all of Gallagher's brain cells, it really shouldn't have been.

"Does it hurt?" Ian asked, his fingers still moving across Mickey's flesh and honestly, he didn't know why he hadn't lashed out yet. He didn't know why he hadn't put a stop to it. Because he should have. He definitely should have, because this whole thing with the burns wasn't something he was at all comfortable with.

He forced himself to shrug, to seem like this situation wasn't bothering him at all. Even if he knew that Gallagher could see right through him. Always had been able to. He couldn't actually remember when that had stopped freaking him the fuck out and he'd just started accepting it as par for the course. "Not anymore," he muttered reluctantly, his entire body tensed up, "It's just numb, itches sometimes."

Ian nodded like this was exactly what he'd expected.

His fingers worked up from the burn to linger over a scar on the inside of Mickey's thigh near his knee. The question hadn't even been asked, but Mickey answered it anyway. "Jumped a fence running from the cops," he muttered, his voice quiet enough that maybe he could pretend Ian didn't hear him or wasn't listening.

He knew he was when Ian's fingers moved over to the circular patch of scar tissue on his thigh, faded now and barely even noticeable unless you knew to look for it. And of course Ian knew to look for it. "Snickers bar incident," he said without knowing why, but felt sort of pleased with himself when a smile curved the corner of Ian's mouth upwards.

Ian kept one hand pressed over that bullet hole scar, like he was trying to hide it from any prying eyes. And Mickey was forced back to when this had all been a whole lot easier, to when he had just been let over Juvie and Ian used to clamp his hand over the freshly healed scar every time they fucked, acting stupid and possessive over it. He remembering not knowing how to complain, he remembered not really wanting to. He thought the argument would probably be redundant if he tried to have it now, if he tried to explain that that scar out of all of them on his body made him _feel_ and he hated it as much as he never wanted it to fade.

"Broke up a knife fight when I was working as a bouncer," he said obligingly, again needing no prompting when Ian traced a raised line of thin scar tissue on his stomach. He barely even remembered getting that one, he'd just remembered Kara rolling her eyes and Tegan poking at the stitches he'd had to have like she was making sure he wasn't about to fall apart and spill out in front of her.

"Took a bullet for a sociopath," he explained when Ian got to the other bullet wound on his shoulder. He'd actually thought Ian had been told that story, but judging by the way that his head snapped up and his eyes went wide in surprise, he probably hadn't been. He made himself shrug. "Wasn't a big deal," he muttered, looking down and then right back again, nervous for no reason at all, "Just didn't want Tegan to have to lose anyone else."

And that was true, sort of; but he also hadn't wanted Ian to have to lose anyone either. Especially since he knew how much the Gallaghers clung to each other for support that the Milkovich family had never been willing to give to each other.

He was only partially surprised though that Ian moved on from that scar without asking any questions. Although, he had a feeling that those were going to come later. Right then, he didn't know what it was that was hanging between them, but it was fragile and tentative and Mickey wanted to break it but was terrified of doing so all at the same time. He wanted to run, he wanted to switch to his default setting and bolt out of the apartment so fast that he'd probably give one of them whiplash.

But he couldn't stop thinking about everything Kara had said about him running. Suddenly it seemed like it was all he could think of, the way she'd sounded so pleading when she'd told him that he couldn't keep running forever, when she'd made the request so clear that she hadn't even had to voice it at all.

So Mickey stayed put and let Ian's fingers ghosting over the pale flesh of his collarbone, up onto the side of his throat, _searching_, he let that ground him. He let Ian tie him to the earth again like he had done so many times in the past. He couldn't actually remember a time when he hadn't had Ian grounding him, when the feel of Ian pressing into him, on top of him and against him hadn't felt like the right thing. When the hands that clamped down onto his hips hard enough to leave bruises had become the thing he sought out to pull him back to earth.

Mickey had spent a long time running, but he'd spent even longer feeling like the slightest tap was going to send everything crumbling underneath him. Like if he breathed wrong it would all blow away. Except when he was with Gallagher. He'd always felt like that, except when he had Ian next to him, in him or even just across the room.

So he didn't move, he just let Ian conduct his silent search, let him find the hardly noticeable silver scar of a bite mark at the base of his throat. He shivered when Ian's thumb ghosted over the scar at the same time as his other hand squeezed tight over the other one on his thigh and he would never know how shivering would ever be a sign of okay, but right then it was, because barely even a second after he shivered, he had Ian's large hands framing his face and Ian's familiar weight pressing him into the couch as Ian's mouth crashed down over his.

He moaned low in his throat, not even thinking to remember his rule about kissing as he grabbed Ian by the shirt and moved them so that he could throw a leg over Ian's thighs, straddling him. He slid forwards into Ian's lap, pushing his hands up under the redhead's shirt and ripping it a little at the collar in his desperation to get it off and feel that familiar, too-hot flesh underneath his hands.

"_Mickey_," Ian gasped out as he bit at the long, exposed column of the redhead's pale throat. He was fumbling underneath him, between them to get Ian's jeans undone, lifting up onto one leg to drag off his boxers. He left them dangling from one ankle, not even being able to think past the feel of Ian underneath him. He didn't even care that technically Firecrotch was still half dressed.

What he did care about – what he was _pleased about_ – was how quickly Ian caught on to what was happening, sucking two fingers into his mouth sloppily before reaching behind Mickey and pressing them to his hole. It had been too long, far too long since Mickey had last had sex and he blamed that for the fact that he almost came from the feel of Ian's long finger pressing into him. He didn't, but only because he grabbed at the base of his cock, squeezing tight enough for it to hurt. Well that and a combination of sheer will power.

"You can come," Ian muttered, his voice low and vibrating through Mickey, making him come undone at the seams just like it had done all those years ago, "I'll just make you do it more than once."

And yeah, there he went, because _Jesus fuck_, Ian couldn't just say shit like that to him. Not when he felt like he'd been waiting for this for his entire life. Or at least for far too fucking long for Ian to be messing around here. Nevertheless though, his cock jerked between them, thick ribbons of white spurting up and splattering both his and Ian's chest.

He didn't know what made it worth it more though, the fact that he'd just come and knew he would be again soon, or the wide lazy, fucking _beautiful_ smile that Ian got on his face when he did. He'd always been a cocky shit and Mickey would never admit how much that did it for him. Not on anyone else, just on Ian; but then there were a lot of things he only liked that were on Ian.

Ian's fingers pulled out of his ass just long enough for him to wipe Mickey's jizz from both of their chests and then using that for lubrication he was pushing them back inside again, rubbing it into Mickey's hole and feeling the muscle twitch and tense underneath his touch. He moaned when Ian's fingers brushed over his prostate and instantly wished he hadn't because suddenly the three digits were gone.

And then something hotter and thicker and something so much fucking _more_ was pressing inside and he forgot how to properly formulate words that would be required for a complaint. He pressed his face into the side of Ian's neck so that he couldn't see the stupid fucking faces that Mickey was making and then pressed downwards, because he may not have done this for a while, but there was no way Mickey was being a pussy here. He didn't care if it burned and he didn't give a shit if his entire body felt like it was on fire with how sensitive he was right then. He just pressed down and laughed low in his throat at the choked off noise that Ian made in response when he bottomed out.

"_Fuck, Mick_," he ground out and if it hadn't been so fucking stupid, Mickey would probably have shouted in triumph because _there it was_. He was Mick again. He'd got to hear it again, had got to hear broken edge to Ian's voice, the way he started murmuring nonsense to Mickey like it was a fucking prayer that he had to get out. He'd got to hear it and even if it was gay, it was just the best thing. It was hands down the best and his cock jumped back to attention quicker than he had thought possible since he'd left his teenage years behind.

He laced his fingers behind Ian's head, pressing his fingers into the bottom of that red hair as he slowly raised himself up, hissing with nothing other than pure need when Ian's hands latched onto his hips and helped slam him down. After that it was just a frenzy, their movements were jerky and erratic, frantic almost as Ian slammed into him, hitting his prostate every time like it was magnetically drawn to it or something.

He bit at Ian's lips in something that wasn't at all a kiss but that the redhead would probably class as one. He didn't care though, he didn't even care if halfway through there was no way of denying that that definitely had been a kiss, because right then was the most relaxed he had ever felt. He'd been stressed out and running, had been so fucking paranoid for so long since he'd last had Gallagher inside of him that he didn't care about anything other than that feeling.

Mickey tumbled over the edge of that cliff first, falling harder than he had ever thought possible, but he got some stupid faggy sort of satisfaction out of the fact that Ian came almost immediately afterwards. Maybe it was the way every muscle in Mickey's body – his ass included – tensed up, or maybe it was just something he had been waiting for, but more than anything Mickey thought it was probably the fact that as he came, Mickey bit Ian hard on the side of his neck. Because Ian had always been and would always be as fucked up as Mickey would, he'd always want that little edge of pain to help shove him over the edge.

And even if it was gay, Mickey would always be more than willing to oblige him in that.

Ian laughed against his shoulder like he'd often used to do after a particularly enthusiastic round and Mickey was practically sucker punched by the familiarity of it. He thought maybe that if he just closed his eyes, he could almost imagine that all of these past years had never happened.

"This doesn't mean I'm going to be your faggy little boyfriend and hold your hand and shit," Mickey said, holding Ian by the hair to make sure he looked at him, to make sure he got that point across.

Ian grinned that shit eating smile that seemed to define Mickey's teenage years and Mickey pointedly ignored the fact that Ian's hand was clamped over the scar on his thigh again as the redhead said, "Okay."

Of course, Mickey still felt he was agreeing to something there, like he was agreeing to more than he would ever be able to feel comfortable with, but to be honest after coming twice in a row, he didn't really give that much of a fuck.


End file.
